


Sandōkai

by MB_Westover



Series: Five Ranks (Absolute and Relative Truths) [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Buddhist/Shinto/Zen Themes, Edo Period, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hatake Clan, Japanese Culture, Konohagakure | Hidden Leaf Village, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Third Shinobi War, Worldbuilding, Young Hatake Kakashi, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MB_Westover/pseuds/MB_Westover
Summary: I respectfully say to those who wish to be enlightened: Do not waste your time by night or day.Where an Edo-period kimono seamstress awakens four-years into her second life, trying to assimilate the past and present.Hatake!SI/OC. Third War Era. AU.
Relationships: Additional relationship tags to be added - Relationship, Hatake Kakashi & Original Female Character(s), Hatake Sakumo & Original Hatake Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Original Female Character(s) & Hatake Sakumo
Series: Five Ranks (Absolute and Relative Truths) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047205
Comments: 23
Kudos: 216





	1. Ringing the Bonshō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The world around you is secretly strange:
> 
> some details are charming and dated,
> 
> others precious and irretrievable,
> 
> but all fade into the quaint texture of the day."
> 
> — John Koenig

Sometimes I felt like repeatedly thanking Yamanaka Ren for his stupid schoolyard bully behavior.

Sometimes I felt like wringing Yamanaka Ren's neck until his body limply hung from my own two hands.

Anger and gratitude were a weird mix of emotions to have towards one person and if I wasn't so emotional about it all, I would logically point out to myself that maybe I was being a little selfish and should just choke Yamanaka Ren while thanking him. There was no harm in multitasking. Of course, violence was never the answer (there were consequences that I would be too bothered to face) because Yamanaka Ren was just a kid with too big of an ego.

Then again, I would be egotistical as well if my face was as pretty as his though.

Pushing the half-dead bonsai to the other side of the windowsill, my hand came up to swipe whatever loose dirt falling through the bottom of the pot's holes manufactured so the roots could breathe a little easy. This wasn't even my bonsai, it was Dad's, but I was being the good daughter that I was and taking care of it with what little bonsai-rearing knowledge I knew.

(Which was none.)

Waking up after living four-and-a-half years with no true sense of self had to be one of the most mentally exhausting things I had ever experienced, hands down. Most children around this age had awareness that they were themselves but humans spent a lifetime just finding who they were.

So of course waking up with an additional sixty plus years of a life already fully lived would set anyone off. There was no use trying to settle into my usual routine when I could barely remember what my daily routine was.

Rise at dawn, feed the chickens, begin breakfast for my grandchildren, take care of Dad's bonsai, begin embroidery on my daughter's kimono, practice katas, buy onigiri- _Wait_. That was all wrong.

Sighing, I pushed the shoji open, scattering the pot dirt onto the engawa. There would be time to clean it later, one thing at a time needed to be addressed. Like my disharmonious mind.

Picking up the bonsai in cradled hands, I carried it to the tokonoma and placed it carefully next to the okimono of a white glazed wolf, its inanimate gaze piercing. It was inappropriate to step into a tokonoma unless changing out decorations, and quite frankly, egregiously pitiful that I was putting in a half-dead bonsai as replacement for the ikebana arrangement that was changed every season.

The Yamanaka's sold practically all of the flowers and pre-made ikebana arrangements for the particularly lazy, but with my recent run-in with my least favorite of all Yamanakas, I was not keen on stopping at the closest flower shop. Dad had already changed the kakemono to the same scroll they reused every time Summer shifted into Autumn so all I would have to do is get the flower arrangement.

Usually changing out the decorations in the tokonoma would be done in a day as was proper, but Dad never followed the proper tradition of it all. This was the first time I would be adding something to the tokonoma as well.

Rubbing a hand over my eye, I stepped back, admiring the golden ginkgo on the kakemono with archaic characters that I struggled to make sense of. Maybe when I grew older I could learn how to read them, as literacy eluded me in both this life and the last. Having a second time around was exciting, but also sad when tatami nicer than my own replaced the threadbare, barely-hanging-on ones I had before. .

Only the more wealthy had tokonoma, but wealth was easily visible in the weird architectural mix of shoin-zukuri and honmune-zukuri that easily trumped the minka I used to call home. Nice tatami and actual rice-paper shoji along with golden painted fusuma screamed wealth.

Benzaiten-kami was surely looking after me, so I would be remiss to not thank her when I prayed. Of course, Benzaiten-kami was my main patron god, as I was considered an artist in my last life's line of work.

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, the tatami crunched under my feet as I made my way through the halls, sliding doors open and passing empty room upon empty room before stepping out to the private courtyard that connected to my family's own rooms. This was a more private wing of the home. The tsuboniwa revealed by an open hall more similar to an engawa was obviously meticulously planted to create a space of zen and relaxation, from the lush greenery to the calming babble of water.

This was a home for a large family, a large clan, her mind urged, mentions of names of people long-gone echoing in her head. _Hatake Niwamaru, Hatake Kuwa, Hatake Tenkara, Hatake Motokubi-_ They were people, just like I was and if I was trying so hard to not reel at the possibility of this again _(another life, another chance, another place to call home)_ , I would try and assimilate more of who I was this time around.

If it wasn't so funny that all of my ancestors in this life had names related to agriculture in some way, maybe I would've felt more sad. It was sad though, seeing all those empty rooms and knowing that years ago this place was home to a dozen more people.

Something had happened to leave the halls and rooms empty, that something whispering fervently in the back of my mind with words I could barely understand or hear. It was frustrating, remembering things you didn't remember. Except you did.

It was confusing.

There was something disquiet brewing in my stomach as I gazed out to the tsuboniwa, a knot of something as I tried to sort through my own emotions. Amusement, grief, gratitude, loneliness, anger, indifference, all made up the melting pot that was me. Perhaps the ancestor's who had built this courtyard garden had taken these emotions into mind when thinking of their descendents, because while it did not calm the storm inside me, it at least allowed me to center myself and focus.

There was a reason why the Gods took memory away when a soul was reborn; it upsets the harmony of their soul. Harmony was something I had always prized, blessings came to those who practiced virtue and life became less of a hassle when you locked away temptations.

Maybe it was harmony that had egoistical Yamanaka Ren rattling my soul and mind, giving me awareness of another life while Obon ended. My ancestors of this body had been satisfied, remembered for their sacrifices and thanked.

_(There was a thought at the back of my mind that I would be celebrated at Obon by my departed body's children and grandchildren, then their children and their own grandchildren.)_

Continuing the familiar path to where it was most familiar, I slid open the shoji to reveal an open room with a corner cut in privacy with a shoji-styled divider and an iko pushed to the wall closest to it, providing the dual purpose of hanging and displaying a rather lavish kimono that was definitely not my own, more in size for an adult woman.

It was beautiful though and before I knew it, I found myself running a careful hand down the silk treasure, marveling over the work that had gone into something as fine and expensive as this. Cranes flew across the orange-yellow sky and lazy clouds dotted the silk-scape.

From a lifetime of wearing cotton-hemp kimono and yukata to touching the craftsmanship of something that went into this was honestly flooring. It wasn't as if I was working on fine kimonos either, but rather the knowledge of owning something as fine as this. Memories that floated in-and-out of focus like hazy dreams supplied faint imagery of liver-spotted hands steadily hand-stitching around the collar for the strength of the fabric. Money came and went when you had anywhere ranging from five to fourteen mouths to feed, no matter how praised your craftsmanship was.

_(Dōura, Hakkake, Eri, Fuki, Furi, Maemigoro, Myatsukuchi, Okumi, Sode, Sodeguchi. My eyes and hands found these easily, my mind still harboring knowledge of before)_

A lifetime of knowing each and every part of a kimono replaced by names and unreadable characters of people I would never get to truly know. "Life was full of changing things", I used to always say, "It was the Gods' way of testing us."

I had traded slowly graying black hair for silver, a large but poor family for a small and rich one, and an elderly body for a young one with a chance at living again. I had been blessed with youth, wealth, and a family. Once upon a time, these were all things I prayed for when my stomach swelled with child and I glowed with the youth of a young woman.

Now, the only thing that I held onto with thankful familiarity is the language I have spoken for both of these lives, but even then there are small differences that I notice slip automatically in my mind. A different dialect, but all the same.

The only jarring difference was the _world_.

No one should have access to a mind the way Yamanaka Ren did. _No one_ should have access to someone else's mind unless you were a God, and last I knew (from childish and blurred memories) Yamanaka Ren was the furthest thing from a divine being.

But there's a difference and I have always been one to not question blessings and curses all the same because life was simple when you put your head down. I had married a boring man, but he was good to me and blessed me with six children who all survived and brought a joy into my life that my first childhood-self wouldn't be able to comprehend. Demurity was good, but there were times when temper should be saved, for when it was revealed and subsequently unleashed, it left more of a lasting impact that could lead to change.

Like overriding my husband's choice of a groom for our youngest daughter. (Even now with vivid clarity I could recall the shocked look on Hayashi's face as I unleashed my full displeasure and fury when he entered our daughter into an engagement with a boy known for his cruelty of stringing up the village cats. Needless to say, the engagement was quickly broken and I had picked Fushimi's boy who went fishing from dawn till dusk at the river nearby.)

There are books stacked in a corner, some tucked under the wardrobe. If I was literate, I would whole-heartedly pour over the contents in one, but because I wasn't, I could only grab a few to flip through and admire the pictures. Books were expensive, books with pictures more so, and there is a small ball of frustration as all I can do is admire the elegant brushstrokes and depiction of a snarling wolf that I think is Ōkami-sama, mighty and divine.

I flip through more pages, coming to a stop at a peculiar page that when I flip to the next, is similar. This continues for the rest of the book, with only one set of characters popping out the most repeatedly as lines connect one to others and so on.

Closing the book, I set a lofty but possible goal for myself: _Learning how to read_. It would prepare myself more, and as a daughter of a house that obviously holds money, it would be only certain that my goal would easily be in grasp.

Children learn things faster than the elderly; my adult children struggled with the more complicated stitches I knew and had regretfully taught them later in life, but after showing and practicing them with my older grandchildren, I privately concluded that it was only normal given the curiosity and trouble kids liked to get into. They knew more things that annoyed you than you thought what annoyed yourself.

I can only hope that learning faster can apply to myself as well because I am a child, but I am also old and weary in the far recesses of my mind that wants to do nothing but sleep. Neatly returning the books where they belonged, I shook out my yukata sleeves to come down over my wrists, moving around the rather minimalist room and snooping through my own things.

Would it count as snooping if I was looking at my own stuff? A different me, but all the same.

It's as I am pulling things out of a deep chest-wooden toys, a stuffed wolf, and what obviously used to be origami animals squashed under the weight of everything else-that I find a long box that holds my attention for the skilled hand that had carved such beautiful patterns onto the top as well as the simple iron lock keeping me from opening it. Digging a bit more finds merit as I toss out a temari ball that jingles with each bounce and rolls away, to reveal a worn iron key.

It fits in my hand easily, no longer than my thumb and fits into the lock with a simple click that has the box popping open, creaking quietly on its small hinges. There's multiple things inside ranging from an old silk furoshiki that is undoubtedly holding jewelry inside as I lift it and soft clinks of metal let confirm my suspicions; it sits alongside a comb that has lost its wooden sheen from sitting idle too long, but I admired the painted chrysanthemum and persimmon motif. An old cloth omamori sat innocently with the one character I can read-for I have seen it so many times, had prayed with it so many times-marking longevity for its holder.

Almost reverently, I lift the omamori, fingers tracing over its patterns and design, feeling the soft rasp of old cloth. Could it be this prayer, held too long in that box, finally brought the attention of Fukurokuju-kami?

It would not be the first time gods have meddled with mortals and I sincerely doubted that it would ever be the last. Just as they were giving and kind, they raged and sewed disharmony into the world when they felt like they were slighted. In days of old, before man had laid their feet upon the ground, the world was much more confusing. Inhabited by the divines, their squabbles and arguments along with their love and agreements making way for the mountains, valleys, and rivers I knew as home.

Lifting my hand away from the amulet, I patted down the sides of my own kimono. This body was not yet old enough to don a proper obi and so I lacked a place to store the omamori. It would be about another three years until I could graduate from cords to an obi to hold together my kimono.

So, like any child, I turned to the neatly rolled up futon in the corner, eyeing it speculatively. Parents often went through their own child's things when they were absent, no matter what they said otherwise. I was guilty of this crime, but more so with my own sons-honestly, if they didn't want me going through their things, they should've learned to clean their own spaces, heavens knew I lectured them enough about it.

So, aside from my better judgement, I shuffled on my knees across the room to shove the amulet into the futon, trying too hard to not stare at the size and shape of my much smaller hands. Job done, I turned back to my trunk, lifting the box to lock it once again and setting aside the key to find a better hiding spot after I put everything away.

The furoshiki did hold jewelry, gold, jade, and silver twinkling back up at her. Some pieces were inlaid with precious stones and some had designs that I could only marvel over. They were absolutely _exquisite_ , but also definitely not appropriate to have at my young age. There was a niggling feeling at the back of my mind and I ignored it to pick through the jewelry. There was a pair of hairpins, but they were not a matching set, with one made of fine amber and the other of jade. These caught my eye the most and I set the pair next to me on the tatami before picking up a bracelet much too big to fit her thin, childish wrist.

There were a few smaller pieces amongst the pairs of earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and rings. Charms, with more than one of them holding a similar pattern of cross-hatches and a few others with the typical pattern mirrored on omamori signalling good luck or fortune. She turned a smaller jade stone over in her hand, a red silk string looped through the hole at one end if the wearer to attach to a hair accessory or obi if they so wished.

Actually...I picked up one of the hairpins-the amber one-squinting at the abstract design and picking out the same cross-hatch pattern. The jade one was more plain, showing the cross-hatch plainly with little flourishment than on the edges to hold the jade piece all together.

 _Hatake_ , my mind supplied as I set the hairpins back down and folded the jewelry back into the silk cloth's gentle hold. I secured the ends in an easy-to-undo knot, so as to not have it actually knot and become unable to open without ruining the furoshiki.

Just as I was to set the bundle back into the box, I paused, frowning at the white edge peeking from under the side of the box. Carefully fingering the edge, I pulled what I thought to be _parchment_ , almost gasping at the image on it.

My eyes latched onto the figures in the picture, almost bewildered. The image was glossy and smooth and incredibly life-like. Whatever was used to paint did not hold the same stroke and hand like painters before, but rather each line of each person was given such life-like quality that I could not help but stare.

My countenance smiled back at me, and I knew it was me even if I've never looked into the mirror since regaining my memories back, because my mind processed the face with an easily familiarity. Besides, it was common sense as me in the picture looked to be barely older than a year old, with rounded black eyes and a bushy shock of silvery hair, a feminine adult hand settled over my stomach that I traced up to the woman who was my mother. She was the only one in the photo with a more natural coloring of brown hair and eyes. Tattoos marked her face and while normally such _mutilation_ of one's body would have me cringing and shying away, it fit the widely smiling in a way that gave her a fierce charm

 _Dad_ , my mind supplied, my gaze falling on the strong lean build of the man in the photo, both of my parent's children obviously inheriting his shocking coloring. He was handsome, with an easy-half smile only amplifying that. The toddler who was held in his arms looked rather bored, half-lidded black eyes staring back at me. And so with easy deduction, he was _nī-san._

With much more careful hands and an adult's way of organizing, there was more space in the trunk than before, with the contents carefully arranged as to save what space there was in the best possible way.

There would be no use in hiding the key under the tatami, they were changed out to keep clean after years of use and I wasn't sure on how my family now treated the flooring. Tatami were expensive and while I had made good money in her old life, I was careful to not spend a coin where I didn't have to.

The box was definitely more precious than the rest of things I owned, if not monetarily then in sentiment. The worth of something did not always have to be measured by finery or beauty, but rather how dear it was to somebody.

 _This_ , I decided, was _ultimately_ _precious_. There was meaning to it, there was care to it that I understood and didn't at the same time. I had lived a life of two, and while one of those lives had spanned into my sixties while the other only peaked at four-and-a-half, I was one and the same.

Closing the trunk, I heaved a small sigh. The key felt warm in my palm and I padded over to the fine kimono from earlier, sliding small fingers in and over the fabric until I found the spot I was looking for to slip the key into its expansive folds. It would be safe there for the time being.

I sucked on my teeth, shuffling back on my knees until I fell backwards, my legs unfolding from under me and bouncing on the tatami as I spread eagle.

The weather was always a gamble this time of year, Fire Country-

My eyes shot open, staring up at the ceiling with incredulity.

_Fire Country?_

I curled my toes, clenching them in the same nervous habit I always had. I had never heard of a place called Fire Country, but the name easily slipped into my mind naturally.

 _Okay,_ I breathed, _it's just something new, just like all of this. New._

I closed my eyes again, willing something to give me the clarity of my home like I held hours ago.

"What are you doing." A flat, monotone voice broke over the forced zen of my concentration and I quickly blinked my eyes open, turning my head to the open shoji that I obviously didn't hear open in my concentration.

"Concentrating." I replied.

"Why."

"Was that a question or statement?" I ask, watching the darker gray of his brows furrow at my question.

"Heiya," his arms crossed, something vaguely disappointed radiating off his person, "You promised you would wipe down the eastern side of the engawa if I did the rest."

"Sorry nī-san, I must've forgotten. I had to use Dad's bonsai as a replacement for the ikebana on our takemono." I wince, both the action and the words escaping me before I could think. My eyes widen and I'm sure my brother takes the action as me further proving my forgetful innocence because he just snorts, looking away from me and down the empty hall from where he must've come from.

"It's fine. I did it anyway. I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to Asahara-san's," his dark eyes traced over me and I was struck by how oddly mature he behaved, "If you don't feel like it then it's fine, I'll grab your gyōza."

I stared at him, his lips pursing into a frown as each second ticked by with silence. He crossed the room, coming to a crouch in front of me and pressing the back of his hand over my forehead, his brows knitting.

"You feel a little warm. Did you sleep with your covers off again?" He asked, dark eyes flickering down to meet my own matching pair.

My tongue darted out to moisten my lips, which had suddenly gone dry. I gave him a smile, but there was no doubt he noticed how strange and nervous the action looked. "I-Yes. I must've. I've been feeling unwell for awhile."

Shifting back on his haunches, my brother sighed. "You need to stop leaving your shoji cracked open."

His tone was rather neutral, but I could detect the scolding tone interwoven with his words. The shock of silvery hair that matched my own seemed to flash in the warm lighting of the room, conjuring the image of the man who was the original holder of such unnatural color. And it _was_ unnatural, even if you argued that age turned hair on the spectrum of a dark peppered gray to a bright white. It was unnatural in the sense that the pair of children he had, had inherited it.

"Where's dad?"

My brother seems to freeze at this question as he gets back up, standing tall to his full height. His build is proportionate, but there is a hint of lankiness in his limbs that hints at him growing tall. I can only hope for the same, for my short height in my last body had left me wearing geta an inch taller than others to make life a bit easier on my impressively short build.

"He's busy." Comes the clipped reply.

I bite my lip. "Doing what?"

"You know what."

I pause, because I really _don't_. One side is screaming something about classifications and the other speaks of a peddler who sold his wife's woven hemp.

"I'll be off then. Get some rest, we can eat in your room." He nods his head to the room, dark gaze sweeping over it before settling on me. "And _close_ your shoji, Heiya."

I tilt my head to him, lowering my eyes almost demurely. "Yes, nī-san."

* * *

Kakashi-nī drags in a low tea table to eat on, the curious white bag crinkling its mystery material as he pulls out equally mysterious white boxes, placing two in front of me and handing me a pair of wooden chopsticks that I puzzle over how to separate until I see him pull them apart.

I copy his actions, struggling to open the box before Kakashi-nī sighs, deftly opening it and placing it in front of me firmly.

"You always struggle with those."

I shrug, adjusting my hold on my chopsticks before snapping up a carrot. There are things I have not learned and it comes to me as a small relief that one of those things is opening these boxes is something that is as clueless to me in this life.

...I'd really have to stop referring to either of my lives as separate if I wanted to merge and assimilate my memories together as fast and seamlessly as possible.

"Have you considered attending the Academy yet?" Kakashi asks, dipping the edge of his fried eggplant in the soy sauce saucer.

"Not yet." I replied, digging for another mushroom. The cook who prepared the meal obviously had a talent for it was simply divine. How spoiled I was.

"Have you...considered it?"

I hum around a bite of beef, my brother frowning across from me. His chopsticks are held loosely in one hand, a piece of onion held delicately by its peeling skin.

"What do they do?" The rice is covered in a sticky sweet-yet-savory sauce that oddly reminds me of a sweet.

Kakashi sighs, "Just say you don't want to go instead of playing dumb all the time, imōto. Dad's not going to be mad if you become a civilian."

There's an unstated, _but I will be_ , behind my brother's words that linger more on disappointment than anger. Almost lethargically, my mind conjures up a building with children milling behind tall walls dividing the Academy from the rest of Konoha.

There, I latched onto the memory, furrowing my brows and focusing. More words flew into my mind, places and things that I knew and didn't.

_Konohagakure-no-Sato, Hokage, Tetsuryū Weapon Shop, Inuzuka—_

"—eiya. Heiya." A harsh flick to my forehead has me crashing back into the moment, blinking rapidly at the annoyed look on Kakashi's face. "If you're not going to listen then just go to bed."

I make a face that he doesn't catch, his eyes lowered back down to his food, methodically picking out the slivered pieces of garlic in his food.

"I'm listening," I grumble. Is this how my children spoke to each other when myself or their father weren't around? "I just feel odd."

"That's because you slept with your covers on. With your shoji open. _Again_." He flicks his chopsticks at me in accusation.

"No—"

" _Yesss_." Kakashi interrupts, dragging out the word with a bland look. His silver hair sways like a peculiar looking cloud, managing to make his head tilt look chastising somehow.

I wrinkle my nose at him. "Yamanaka Ren made my mind feel funny."

This catches his attention, his slight slouch in posture straightening over the short table. He shuffles in his spot, his chopsticks placed down neatly.

"When was this?" He asks almost commandingly.

I shift from one side to the other, biting my lip concertedly and trying to figure out when I gained full awareness of my last life. "Three...maybe four days ago? We got into a fight at the park and he did something weird."

Kakashi leans back, tilting his head up to the ceiling and letting out a great sigh. "Let's tell Dad about it when he gets home before anything. Just...stay away from the park for now."

I nod, "Okay."

Kakashi grumbles something about _clans_ and _dumb kids_ , gathering his food together and shoving everything back into the bag he got it from before sweeping out of my room.

I finish my meal by myself, puzzled on where to dispose of the rest before I shrug and push the table away from the center of the room. _Nī-san will take care of it, like he always does_ , is the ringing statement in my mind.

I roll out my futon, the omamori falling out. I undo the cords around my kimono and sigh, picking up the amulet and shuffling under the covers.

It's warm in my hand and in the orange light of the fading sun lighting my room into a glow behind shoji that led out to another courtyard, I stared at the omamori as the sun began to set, sinking my room into a cold, dark night where my eyes began to droop sleepily.

I dreamed of an old woman spinning silk, her wheel sitting upon an open field with only moonlight to guide her hand. The grass rustled, swaying gently in tune to the soft creak of the wheel. Somewhere, across the field, a wolf howled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's go over some vocabulary used in this chapter.
> 
> Heiya (平野): Plain Field
> 
> Tokonoma (床の間): A recessed space in a Japanese-style reception room, in which items for artistic appreciation are displayed. There are certain rules in what to display and how to receive guests in the room with the toko. Decorations change seasonally, with an ikebana display being one of the most common items in a toko.
> 
> Ikebana (生け花): A minimalist flower arrangement typically portraying acknowledgement and seasonal changes that sparks joy. Arrangements should be seen as a specific moment in time—like a snapshot or portrait in reverence to a season.
> 
> Kakemono (掛物): A Japanese hanging scroll used to display and exhibit paintings and calligraphy inscriptions and designs mounted usually with silk fabric edges on a flexible backing, so that it can be rolled for storage.
> 
> Okimono (置物): Basically a display ornament typically seen in tokonoma or butsudan altars.
> 
> Engawa (縁側 or 掾側): An edging strip of non-tatami-matted flooring, usually wood or bamboo. The ens may run around the rooms, on the outside of the building, in which case they resembles a porch or sunroom.
> 
> Obon (お盆) [Bon, 盆]: Is an annual festival celebrated to pay homage to one's ancestors in which graves are cleaned and household altars are revisited.
> 
> Shoin-zukuri (書院造): A style of residential architecture used in the mansions of the military, temple guest halls, and forms the basis of today's traditional-style Japanese house.
> 
> Honmune-zukuri (本棟造): Is typically a square plan with a gabled, board-covered roof topped with a bird-like ornament called a suzume-odori. This build is typically wider.
> 
> Machiya (町屋 and/or 町家) are traditional wooden townhouses.
> 
> Fusuma (襖): Vertical rectangular panels which can slide from side to side to redefine spaces within a room, or act as doors.
> 
> Tsuboniwa (壺庭 ): A tsuboniwa is a small, zen garden typically found within areas formed by the junction of buildings, under the overhang of roofs, or between buildings.
> 
> Benzaiten (弁才天): Is one of the Seven Lucky Gods in Shinto. She is given the attributes of financial fortune, talent, beauty and music among others. She carries a biwa, a Japanese traditional lute-like instrument and is normally accompanied by a white snake. She is the patron of artists, writers, dancers, and geisha, among others.
> 
> Fukurokuju (福禄寿): Is one of the Seven Lucky Gods in Shinto with origins from China and is sometimes omitted from the group or confused with Jurōjin. He is the god of wisdom, luck, longevity, wealth and happiness. The Chinese Song Dynasty believed him to be the reincarnation of the Taoist God Hsuan-wu. Moreover, he is the only god who was said to have the ability to resurrect the dead.
> 
> Furoshiki (風呂敷): A traditional Japanese wrapping cloth, traditionally used to transport clothes, gifts, or other goods.
> 
> Dōura, Hakkake, Eri, Fuki, Furi, Maemigoro, Myatsukuchi, Okumi, Sode, Sodeguchi are all parts of a kimono.
> 
> Random Hatake Ancestors:
> 
> Hatake Niwamaru (畑庭丸): Farmland Garden Circle
> 
> Hatake Kuwa (畑桑): Farmland Mulberry
> 
> Hatake Tenkara (畑テンカラ): Farmland Fly-Fishing
> 
> Hatake Motokubi (畑元首): Farmland Neck-Trowel


	2. No Tether of Mushin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the still point of the turning world.
> 
> Neither flesh nor fleshless;
> 
> Neither from nor towards;
> 
> at the still point, there the dance is,
> 
> But neither arrest nor movement.
> 
> –T.S. Eliot

I patted the soil around the newest addition, careful to keep the dirt from falling on my face by wiping the sweat off of my brow. Before, this job would be delegated to one of my own sons, or in this life, Kakashi.

Except, my brother was out busy with his assignments and not due to be home for another week. He had left a note on the kitchen table and I had left it untouched because of my inability to read any character except the one translating to 'Hatake' from the amount of times I had seen it written in the ancestry records I found.

My mind had finally settled after a fortnight of a confusing mix of dreams and memories that assaulted my brain until my mind was bowed to cooperate. Hatake Heiya and Furiko were one and the same coin, printed differently on each side.

I lived in Fire Country which was located in the Elemental Nations, ruled by a Daimyō rather than an Emperor. I was born in the fifteenth ruling year of Ashikaga Mototsune, the previous Fire Daimyō, when the snow was thick on the ground and the air was cold enough to burn your cheeks.

Here, in the Elemental Nations, while similar to my life and culture in Japan, there were startling differences that prompted me to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming. Chakra was the thing of stories, and while I _knew of_ shinobi, the culture of them had left me shocked. Seeing people run up buildings and leap great distances with seemingly little effort had left me unable to process just _how_.

I saw no issue with children earning their keep early, my own children had started learning to help spin hemp and silk once they reached their fourth year—but there was something uneasy that settled in my stomach when I caught Kakashi-nī stepping out of his room in what I could only deduce was _armor_.

It explained the maturity of my older brother, of the solemnness that followed him around. He enjoyed structure, always arriving home once the clock struck ten. He held a discipline I had only ever associated with samurai or the fancy guards the Imperial Family held to keep their palaces and persons safe. He was a soldier for our village, and had been a soldier for the village since he stepped foot into the Academy and sat down for classes that taught children the horrors of war.

My clan was part of this culture, honored for their prowess and skill that made up for the dwindling numbers that were just Dad, Kakshi, and I. Wars had pushed my ancestors into demand, and it was little surprise that less and less returned each year. The Hatake Clan once had numerous branches and it was sobering to think that I was the last of a line.

I carried the blood and legacy of countless warriors before me who died for _something_. Most recently that something was Konohagakure, a village worth protecting if to keep the memories Hatake Heiya held. There was an imaginary weight on my shoulders that made me wonder if those descended from samurai in my old world felt the weight of their ancestors just as surely as I did in this one.

Pushing myself up from my knees and wincing at the series of pops that escaped my joints, I gathered the basket of harvested radishes and turned back to the empty house. I had found a garden after wandering for a few hours in the vast stretches of tatami and shōji screens that made up the giant that was an empty house. It was located in a small corner, fenced off with rows of plants and budding greens that I would've wept at the sight of in my old life. My gardens then had trouble catching properly in the soil, the roots withering before I could do anything about it. It was awesome.

The difference in technology was awesome as well. Being able to turn a tap and have instant water? Nothing short of a miracle. I could and would turn away those bone-shivering memories of an old woman shivering in her own kimono, aged hands clumsily fumbling over the water pump before turning to the well.

I began to hum as I washed the radishes, watching splotches of brown give way to bright white. Kakashi preferred eggplants, but Dad would be home tonight and I knew daikon radishes were his favorite. Personally, I held a fondness for the simplicity of rice and how flexible it was with every meal.

Setting the vegetable aside, I hopped off the stool kept in the kitchen. Kakashi tended to stubbornly climb on the counter to reach the highest shelves while I would anxiously watch from the side. He was at an age where he seemed to want to do everything himself. Most children went through this phase and I could recall countless memories of my own brood doing the same, but Kakashi tended to hold a stubborn streak to prove his responsibility and independence.

Padding to the fridge (and wasn't _this_ such a wondrous invention?) I opened it to a very disappointingly empty sight. Being the sole inhabitant in a large home with the other two gone, this tended to be the outcome. Dad always forgot to buy half the things on a grocery list and Kakashi would gravitate to cheaper brands in order to save money when there was no need to.

Sighing, I closed the fridge. If I wasn't Hatake Heiya who was also Furiko, I would be one starving child. Annoyance prickled at my mind at the irresponsibility of my father in this life, but just as quickly as it came, it disappeared. He was a single parent to not one, but two precocious children. Not only that, he rarely came home.

I huffed, padding to my room to get changed for a day out. The radishes would be fine until I got home and pulled them out of the fridge. The nobility back home would've shoved money at any merchant if they had such an invention.

Pulling off my clothes, I settled on a rather plain yukata dyed a dark navy. No patterns covered the surface, but there was embroidery spanning across my back in what I had come to recognize as the Hatake Clan mon. The simple cross-hatch depicting a field made me wonder if the first of my clan were farmers, given both the clanname and mon.

Holding my yukata close with one hand, I fiddled with my tying cord, looping it around my small waist with clumsy hands. It had been years since I had dressed myself with no help, age had made my fingers less dexterous and prone to cramping up. I was lucky to have good-willed daughters who did not mind helping their elderly mother. It would be three more years until I could wear an actual obi. Until then, I would need to get used to tying a cord instead of fumbling with the fabric of an obi.

Pulling on my tabi, I slid my feet back into my house slippers. There was a lidless-box underneath my wardrobe that I found out to be trinkets, combs, and generally things for my hair. There were colorful clips and curious ties that stretched. Pulling my hair up, I settled on tying the simple bun I had worn for decades. It was jarring to see silvery strands in my hands when I expected black, but with it up and out of my face, it was easy to pretend it was back to a normal color.

Standing, I felt around my head for any loose strands. It would be my first time out into Konohagakure since the incident with Yamanake Ren; scrambled mind or not, I wanted to make a good impression. I could barely remember if I had any childhood friends.

The kitchen was quiet as I stepped into it, looking for the small pouch I had seen by the note Kakashi had left. I poked my finger into the opening, loosening the drawstring and peering inside to the soft jingle of coins. Hopefully, currency would be the same. I sincerely doubted it.

"I'm off!" I called out to the empty house. No one replied of course and I toed out of my house slippers to slide into a pair of gray zori.

* * *

"This isn't worth more than five-thousand ryo," I huffed at the vendor. "It's much too thin and the quality is lower than the price suggests. Two-thousand ryo."

The saleswoman's face is red and she snatches back the bolt of fabric from my hands rather rudely. Most of her fabrics are rather shoddy in quality, but with the way she was barking out prices and advertising her wares, I was more curious than I should be after spending a quite generous amount on fruit I had never seen before.

"This is top quality!" She replied, her thin lips pursing into a scowl.

"No it's not." I counter, my eyes trailing over the rest of her bolts of fabric. My youngest son could weave better than what she was displaying. I grab a rather eye-catching bold of red fabric, sniffing disdainfully at the frayed edges that weren't tied off right. I unfurled a food foot, shifting to let the bags acquired by other vendors sit by my feet as I held the fabric out to her. "The dye is uneven here and makes it look a bit pink, not only that but the threads are skipped—"

She snatches the other bolt from me. "Out! I have served the royal court my own silks and fabrics and will not be scolded by a child!"

"I am only _telling_ you that the quality—"

"My quality is fine! Do you think I would sell anything that was less than stellar? I have been in this business more years than you have seen, girl." The vendor's hand whips out to shoo me away, uncaring at the rudeness of the action. "Now out! I don't need you starting any trouble for me."

Flummoxed, I am shooed from her stall, her grumbling stink-eye following me even as I stumble away from her cheap fabrics and silks. I knew quality when I saw it and if she had the honor to serve a lord with those wares, then the standards I had upheld would've been labeled as legendary craftsmanship.

I huff, fixing the bags on my elbow so they don't cut off circulation, shooting a glare right back at the rude woman. What would she know about quality? I had spent decades nurturing an art that had been passed down my family line for _generations—_

I stop. No, no that wasn't right, was it? Hatake Heiya had a family line carved by strong men (and women, surprisingly) while the creaky old woman my mind kept tripping over had a family line of tailors, weavers, and seamstresses.

"Out of the way, kid."

I jostle, stumbling back and into the shade of another vendor's stall as a farmer clops by on his wagon, a dark gray mule snorting at the reins. My bags swing wildly bonking into my side as I try not to trip over whatever the salesperson behind me was barking out.

"Watch it," A hand settles over my shoulder, righting my unbalanced self. "Don't need you fallin' all over my wares."

"Sorry," I reply, crossing one leg over the other to turn around. I tilt my head up at the person, tanned skin much like my Hayashi instantly catching my eye. "Pardon me, sir."

The man chuckles, his head tilting down as he pulled a crate closer to his stall, further away from my zori-entrapped feet. "Don't worry about it. Saw you barkin' at Hagino," he jerks his bearded chin over at the cheap fabric stall. "Didn't think a kid would know much about fabrics."

"I know plenty about fabrics."

He raises a brow before turning to look away, a chuckle catching in his throat. "Precocious, aren't you?"

I hum. "Quite."

He laughs out loud this time, turning to go behind his stall and seating himself on whatever chair or stool. He walks with a slight limp, the action of sitting a relief from the way his shoulders seem to relax.

"If you were lookin' for good fabric, Hagino is all you got. You can try Umeko's down by the Nara District for another option. Used to get a Bunraku caravan but…" The vendor trails off, his gaze catching onto something far away as he idly scratches his beard.

"But?" I couldn't imagine what a puppetry caravan would have in fabrics and silks, but this new world was strange enough. I tuck a silvery strand behind my ear, inwardly scowling at the loosening bun utop my head. My hair was shorter than I was used to, the bun not holding up as well as it would've if it reached down to my waist.

He startles, shaking his head once before turning to look back on me. "But with tensions it's been hard for cross-nation trade. But enough of that," he waves a hand, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter of his stall, "You lookin' to buy anything? I got some of the finest citrus here in Fire Country."

My gaze trails down from the motion of his hand, a lucky cat sitting on the outside corner near a crate of what looked to be yuzu fruit. There are a few others I don't recognize—a variety of them with the same waxy peel in vivid shades of orange to yellow to green. I rove over a few, hesitating on buying something new while also sticking to what was safe. While there was less people to worry about feeding, that didn't mean I needed to splurge whatever funds were left for me by Kakashi.

Bending down, I inspected the yuzu rolling them this way and that in my hands to look for any imperfections before settling on my choices. "These ones." I told the vendor, rolling my choices over the counter.

He flicked his fingers. "Four ryo."

I fished out the coins. Citrus fruits were always expensive, no matter the season. Handling them before they became too watery or lumpy was an issue of transport which made them more expensive, not to mention the religious or ceremonial uses that made them more of a decoration than treat most of the time. Dropping the coins on the counter, I swiped the yuzu into my arm, dropping them into the most open bag on my arm and thanked the vendor.

"Don't worry about it. Just remember who to go to when you want more of those," he motions to my bag. "Ol' Yaru has more where those came from."

_So much for a good impression._

Padding away from the vendor, I sighed. The sun was high up into the sky already, fluffy clouds tinged by more wispier ones making their idle way across the great blue giant above. Konohagakure's main market was one sprawling street that went on for a good mile, vendors cramped next to each other on the open space between stores that never seemed to be empty of customers.

This life was...colorful, to say the least. I had worried over my hair the moment I had realized I would be heading to a more public setting than the back garden of my new home. Those worries had gone right out of the window and settled firmly into shock the moment I saw a pair of women pass by, happily chatting as if the bright green of their hair was as normal as brown.

Some of the vendors had strangely colored hair as well. There was a man near the edge of a weapons shop selling strips of calligraphy, his own mane a shade of bright red. A young woman with pottery had the same shocking shade of my own hair, though it was many hues darker in gray.

Sheets were strung over the street to block out as much sunlight as they could, uneven gaps or slivers providing enough natural light that the outdoor market was welcoming as it was bright, even under the shade. Closer to the center of Konohagakure, buildings were brighter, ranging from a myriad of colors that I had never even considered to exist. Architecture mimicked the traditional michiya I was used to, though there were mixes of whatever other style, more circular in design.

Stepping out of the way of a gaggle of rushing kids, I shift my bags from one arm to the other. It was a miracle that somewhere, in the recesses of my fluctuating memories and mind, I had remembered the way to the market. Of course, I had asked a few people on the way, unsure if whatever muscle memory was serving me right.

Dad would be home tonight, if I remembered the schedule right. Kakashi-nī had mentioned something about him coming home, a pinched expression on his face before he turned to go to his room and change clothes.

Whatever it was between them, I wanted to know.

Turning around the corner of a small convenience store, I hurried past the front garden of a small house. The dog there was _mean_ , as I learned earlier today, willing to snap it's teeth at you between the boards of the fence.

Dogs never appealed to me then. I don't think they would appeal to me _now._ Cats, on the other hand, were much more tolerable. At least they gave a warning before smacking you where it hurt.

My home was close to the market, but far enough that the traffic and noise didn't carry. There were a few other homes, compounds by the looks of them, with tall walls and mons displayed proudly by banners over them. Konohagakure had many clans by the looks of it, enough space between compounds to give privacy filled with trees and shrubs to create a divide.

Unlatching the gate to my own home, I marvel at the work gone into the building. I had never thought of living in such a place so fine. The tiles were a uniform black, curling to let snow and rain slide off with no problem. They were newer too, less chips and discoloration from the sun to stain them gray.

The path to the doors were long, stones pressed into the flat ground with grass curling over that needed to be cut. It was a rather plain yard, a lone deer scare rhythmically tapping with the rush of water in the far corner.

All this space with no one to tend to it. I could see old flowerbeds, dirt dusted over with shrubbery slowly invading the space. Maybe long ago, this front yard was a symbol of prosperity to any guest. It had now fallen into some sort of natural chaos, though still attractive by the lack of weeds pushing up through the soil.

Perhaps, as the last of a clan, the normal wealth for many had become too much for the remainder. That book, the one with Ōkami-sama had to be an ancestral record of some sort, pages upon _pages_ listing names and relations. Still. There was something sad about looking around and seeing the vestiges of something that was once so _full._

I sighed, slipping off my zori and sliding into the pale blue house slippers that were mine. Kakashi's were yellow, printed with small ducks. His were neatly placed upon the rack.

"I'm home," I called to no one in particular. I would have to get started on dinner before Dad came home, I was sure that with his line of work the last thing he wanted to do is fuss over cooking.

Padding to the kitchen, I hefted my purchases onto the counter, huffing as the tops of the table skimmed my own height. My arms shook from the effort, my groceries suddenly feeling heavier as I lifted them. Pulling the stool from where I left it, I pulled my purchases from their bags, methodically placing back what would be used for later in the week and what would go to use now.

All of the meat went into the freezer, organized by type and stacked upon each other neatly. I kept the vegetables wrapped in their nets, pushing them into the fridge and whatever else seemed would do better in the cold than left out. All my yuzu went into the fridge as well. I didn't have much in the way of fruits besides the yuzu, the season made them expensive. Apparently it had been a dry season for crops in Fire Country.

Cooking was relaxing, if a little challenging at times. Dragging the stool from one counter to another got tiring really quick and I prayed to whatever god that when I grew, it would be quick and give me enough height to properly look over the counters. Being so small got old, easily. It was a struggle to reach for the knives and after the fourth time I had to lean over the counter more than I should, I gave up and climbed up onto the counter, guiltily looking over my shoulder as if someone else was there.

I made sure to wipe down where I stepped, house slippers fallen to the ground by the cabinets in my climb. Peppers were chopped quickly, though I discovered that while my mind may know my own dexterity with a kitchen knife, my body didn't. I had almost lopped off a finger.

Chopping off my finger aside, cooking gave my grounding. My mind did not whirl with possibilities and endless questions, my spirit did not waver in a place that was home yet not, unbalanced and unfiltered in a way that I did not truly understand. But here, chopping greens and sliding meat into a pot, I allowed myself to relax. Keeping my hands busy kept my mind busy, worrying over whether or not the instant-broth I had bought over excitement and curiosity would properly work or not.

I hoped it would. Making broth was such a pain.

"Smells good." A hand settles on top of my head, pushing my bun uncomfortably down as they awkwardly ruffle my hair.

I shrieked, my foot catching on the underside of my stool as I half-stepped off. I'm quickly caught by attentive hands, blinking widely up at the person above me. Dad gives me a crooked smile, white hair dangling down and framing his face as he looks down at me.

"Dad?" His face overlaps another in my head for the barest of a moment before I'm blinking it away.

His eyes crinkle, his smile even brighter. "I'm home."

Dad pushes me back up and sets me to stand on the stool, shifting to lean back on one of the counters, looking over at my low-boiling pot of broth curiously. A few cutting boards take space up on the counters, ranging from meats to peppers to onions. A pot of rice is steadily steaming on the stovetop, merrily whistling as it cooked. He gives a low whistle, "All this for your old man? I thought I told you and your brother to not touch the stove when I'm not home?"

I smack his hand away from snatching a bit of raw onion, Dad startling and giving me an amused look. He manages to snag one anyways, popping it into his mouth with a pleased hum. "Where's your brother?"

Huffing, I turn back to my broth. "Nī-san is out on an assignment. He left a note on the table." I motion past the wall, Dad's eyes following my motion. "I thought it would be nice to make something to welcome you home."

He seems to deflate at this news a little, a small frown pushing at the edges of his lips before he turns back to me. "Thanks, grey cat."

I hum, flickering my eyes over the man who was my father this turn of life around. His clothes are dark, dirt staining the front half and his long hair looks as if a wild animal had gotten into it. There are dark circles under his eyes, though that is easily missed by the way his smile seems to softly light up his face in a paternal glow of a parent who was content to be home.

"I won't be done for another hour," I tell him, watching him snag another onion with a defeated sigh. "You should clean up for dinner."

Dad ruffles my hair again, patting my back and leaves to presumably do what I just said. There are no footsteps to signal his departure and it's unsettling to think that the tatami don't catch on his feet like they do to mine. But then again, here, there are no normal people. A house with ghosts, an unbalanced daughter, a precocious son, and a father with classifications who didn't sell his wife's woven hemp.

Spooning a generous amount of greens, I turned away from the pot to unwrap the tofu. Hopefully it was as fresh as the vendor said. It didn't disappoint, easily giving way to the knife as I cut it into smaller cubes, though firm enough to not smush into a soggy mess.

Mixing, chopping, and stirring, I settled again into a rhythm and let my mind take me elsewhere.

Konohagakure truly was a colorful place. It was odd and new, _refreshing_ in a way I never thought that a place could be. Change was a dangerous thing, made by gods and men with too much power in their hands. Benzaiten-kami was surely looking after me, placing me in such a prosperous home. I could've been placed in somewhere far worse than an empty house, the last of a line.

I inwardly cursed myself in forgetting to buy incense as a thanks.

I would have to set up a shrine somewhere in the house, maybe in one of the empty rooms. A shrine to Benzaiten-kami and Fukurokuju-kami to thank and pay my respects to. I wasn't sure if there was a temple in Konohagakure, but I also wasn't willing enough to comb through the large village to find one.

There was already enough trouble with my scrambled upturned mind, I didn't need to add to it by trying to figure out the labyrinth that was my village. And it was _extensive._ The walls that valleyed around it were huge, peeking over the tops of the buildings and far enough for me to gauge their size of being _tall._

Dad comes back out as I'm setting the table, asking his help in lifting the pot of soup to transfer it to the table. He does so quietly, looking over my head amusedly as I insist on serving him and myself.

"Have you considered the Academy yet?"

I hum, chewing on my mushrooms and swallowing. The instant broth was a bit stronger than I thought, so a lesser serving of it should work better next time. It was particularly strong when I ladled my soup from the bottom of the pot. "I don't know what that is."

Dad sighs, his shoulders drooping. "You and Kakashi are the same."

I don't know what he means by that other than I really don't know _what_ the Academy is other than the flash of a memory telling me that it was where children went. Yamanaka Ren's silly trick had me still scrambling to remember things that should be simple this time around, but here I was, not even knowing the name of my father of this life.

So I tilt my head, quietly eating my food until I get up to grab another serving of rice from the wondrous invention that is the rice cooker. It had taken some time to figure out how to turn it on, but the specifics were the same when measuring rice versus water.

"Did you read nī-san's note?" I ask. Dad is plucking out the radishes from his plate, happily separating them into another pile with an unhealthy amount of soy sauce drizzled over them.

"Mhm." He sets the soy sauce down, "He'll be back in a few days instead of a week. Left a reminder to buy some groceries, but you already did that right, Heiya?" Dad's eyes crinkle and I nod.

"Yeah. Hagino-san doesn't sell as good of fabric as she thinks she does." I think back to the vendor, my mouth twisting down into a frown.

Dad raises a brow, "When did you become a specialist in fabric?"

"Always."

He barks a laugh, the lines on his face looking lighter somehow as his lips turn upwards into unconcealed mirth. It makes him look younger than my initial impression and I wonder how old the man next to me is when the shadows on his face fade away. I would say that my soul, as unbalanced and shaky as it was, had more lines and stress across its body than he.

Why did I remember? What did Yamanaka Ren exactly do to me? My body was the same, soft and untouched by the years. My face is chubby, the look of a child who has lived a life with food and comfort that did not look for work.(That was something Kakashi had, the softness of his own face lined with the beginning of age in a way that shouldn't be seen until he at least hit his tenth year.)

My soul was rung, smacked by a bell and handled by water to only reawaken. The sun was the same and the moon still hung in the sky as a gentle light to guide, but I stood on my own path. What did that mean?

Dad's hand ruffles my hair, his fingers catching on my bun with a chuckle at my scowling protest. His touch shakes me from my mind, silvery hair tumbling over my shoulders in messy hanks that has me inwardly cringing at the presentation of it. His hand ruffles my hair, tugging on my bun with a chuckle despite my scowling protest. Silvery hair tumbles over my shoulders in uneven hanks, half of it still held up by my band. It reminds me of unbleached silk, though lacks the dusty rose color. It lacks any color, honestly, the comparison is a weak one but it grounds me enough to focus on what Dad says.

"Kashi-tan should be home in time for when I need to leave," Dad says. There's a tinge of sadness to his words, though I say little in favor of warily eyeing his offending hand that taps on the table. He turns a smile onto me, "That's enough time to spend with my favorite pup, _hm?_ "

I hesitate, my hands stilling in their action of pulling my hair up and out of my face. Truthfully, I know little about this man in front of me other than the instinctual well of affection that warms my chest. I share his hair, the shape of eyes, and even the unruly spike texture of hair that has completely come from him in color as well.

But he's my Dad.

My hesitation was obviously noticed in the way his smile seems to strain, his eyes shifting the tiniest bit to look _over_ me than _at_ me. I smile, the stretch of my lips feeling foregin as I pull back my lips to reveal teeth in a hope to look childishly cherubic. It was an action that my own had done and I knew its effectiveness to deter awkwardness.

"That sounds great, Dad."

And it does. There's a flutter in my stomach that I can't quite name, but I feel like I had moved a mountain in the way his smile stretches like the sun. I don't say anything as his hand reaches out once again to ruffle my hair.

"Thanks for taking care of my bonsai."

"It's no problem."

Dad smiles again, his chopsticks clinking as he snatches the radishes from my plate when I pretend I'm not looking.

* * *

_Dad—_

_Make sure to buy groceries when you get home. Heiya knows how to use the stove so don't worry too much, I showed her how to not burn the house down when I graduated. Just thought to remind you._

_Make sure to ask Heiya about Yamanaka Ren. She felt sick a while ago and was a bit off, I think they got into a fight and he used some form of his clan's jutsu on her. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it because of clan politics and I didn't want to make you worry when you were out on a mission._

— _Kakashi_

* * *

Hanging out with my father this time isn't what I expected. Furiko was the fourth child out of a gaggle of a total of seven children, along with being the eldest daughter. To her first parents, she was less of a child and more of a second mother, helping raise her younger siblings while working alongside her parents as soon as she showed a modicum of awareness and responsibility.

But here, I am the youngest. And like all of the last children in a family, I am the baby, encouraged to grow but also stay as young as possible.

Dad takes me to the park, encouraging me to run with the children even though I had donned my geta and wore my nicest yukata. The idea of it all turns me off and I instead opt for beelining to the edges of the park, still within my father's vision as he picks up a conversation with a man who has an unseemly scar across the width of his face.

The shade is cool, cicadas humming loudly—thankfully not as loud as they are in the summer—to the buzz of shrieking children as they play on a contraption I recognize as a 'jungle gym.' They are all flailing limbs and smiling faces, and like every other child, take to climbing like a fish takes to water.

Not me, however. I crouch in the shade, tilting over a root and using my balance to rock back and forth over it as I draw shapes in the patch of fury upturned by the curling root. It wasn't what I thought I would be doing when dad said we would have a day out together, but his actions are fumbling enough to let me know that the man doesn't really know what to do with his own child.

It would be amusing if it wasn't for the fact that he was my _only_ parent. .

Still, he is an attentive enough father with the way his eyes flicker to me like mine do to him every few moments, checking if I am still there before sweeping them back to his conversation partner. He frowns on one occasion, seeing me by myself, but I don't mind as I try to draw a messy caricature of my new family.

Kakashi is given the spikiest hair, his dirt-picture looking bored as he always does. Dad is smiling with a simple curve. I hesitate before trying to draw myself, as I realize I actually haven't seen my own reflection clearly. Still, the drawings are little better than stick figures with defining features so I give myself the same spiky hair I share with the two males in my family before scribbling it away.

"Heiya!"

I look up. Dad's partner is gone and he's waving to me from across the park. A few other kids' heads turn, some of them snickering as I immediately get up to hurry over to him. Children are rather interesting things, though I have no desire to mingle with them. It boggles my mind when I know that I am like them yet not, those thoughts easily lead me down to a headache that makes me quiet in a way that concerns Kakashi when he is around to haunt our home's halls.

Sidling up to my father, I easily slip my hand into his offered own. It's warm, the hold comforting as it wraps around my much smaller hand. Calluses scrape against the softer parts of my palm.

"You didn't play with the other children." He states, leading us away from the park and to a rather empty street that we did not take earlier. There's a house with a _pink_ roof and a young couple squabbling in the garden as we pass by.

—" _I told you that my tulips were delicate!"_

" _Cabbages are much more important than tulips! What are you going to do, eat them?"—_

"I didn't want to dirty my clothes." I reply, the sound of the couple being drowned out by the sudden buzz of cicadas as they continue their roaring crescendo. Dad hums, his hand squeezing mine as a woman dashes across the roofs.

"We can always wash dirty clothes, pup."

"I know." I tilt my head up to look at him, my other hand fingering the fabric of my yukata. It's a familiar mix of cotton and hemp, sturdy and reliable in age. "I don't want to ruin the fabric though. Some stains can't come out."

Dad snorts, tugging my hand as we turn around a corner. There are more people here, their hair all leaning to shades of yellow I had not seen ever before. It's less of a shock than my own silvery locks, though still eye-catching as a child bows over a flower-pot full of camellias that seem to be struggling to grow.

"Where are we going?" I turn my head back up to dad, trying not to stare as a woman with cheery yellow hair passes by.

"I just need to talk to an old friend." Dad waves at the woman, dark eyes then turning back down to me. "Kashi-tan told me that you got into a little rumble with a Yamanaka boy." His brow raises and I hum.

"Yeah," I drag my foot over the sidewalk, the scrape of wood against stone almost therapeutic as I try not to focus too much on the thought of Yamanaka Ren and his good-looking no-good pretty face. "He made my mind feel funny."

Dad doesn't say anything, though his hand tightens around my own as we enter a flower shop. The burst of color has me blinking. It's brighter on the inside of the shop than it is outside, white-lights overhead bringing out the vibrant-ness of each color in a way that the artist in me appreciates.

"Welcome!" A voice chimes over the bells. A teenager with honey-colored hair steps out from around an aisle, a vase holding a plant with interesting red leaves held in their arms. "I'll be right with you."

The teenager hurries to presumably put the vase down and I look up at dad. HIs face is still pleasant, though there is an undercurrent of something I can't quite place. The grip of his hand over mine is still firm. I don't attempt to try to remove my hand, it's the hold of a parent who was quite done with whatever transgression or mischief of a child.

Honey-colored hair swings into view and the teenager smiles, her face as pretty as Yamanaka Ren's as she greets us once again. "Hi there! Will this be a delivery or in-house?"

"I'm afraid I have business with your clan head. Clan matters." Dad gestures to something, the girl's eyes catching on the front of his shirt before widening. I almost startled at the visible difference of her eyes from a normal person's, but she was whirling down into the aisle behind her before I could react, her pony-tail whipping behind her.

"She has no pupils." I breathed before I could realize, staring at the place she had vacated with awe. Dad chuckles, shifting from one foot to another.

My ears tinge red at his soft laugh. How _rude_ that was to comment aloud on her appearance. Though it wasn't my fault, for I had never seen anyone, or had heard of anyone _who had no pupils_. How did she see? Did you _need_ a pupil to see? Perhaps she was blind, just like that old priest who had visited my old village every six-month. Though if she was blind, that would raise many more questions on why or how she was working without visual aid in a flower shop.

The teenager returns, a man close on her heels as she bows hastily to both my father and the man before scrambling off to somewhere else in the store.

"Hatake-san." The man greets. His hair is the same shade as the teenager's, his eyes a darker shade of blue, though still lacking pupils. I try not to stare.

"Yamanaka-san." Dad greets, bowing his head cordially. "May I have a word?"

Yamanaka-san shrugs, gesturing behind him and leading the way behind a curling plant. I follow, my hand still in dad's though he squeezes his hand reassuringly as we duck under the plant to follow Yamanaka-san into a back room with a low table and cushions for seats.

"Please, sit. I would be a terrible host otherwise." The man sets down a tray of tea in front of us, made presumably for himself and his worker before we had arrived. He lifts a finger to give a moment before disappearing and returning with two extra cups.

Dad and I sit. I cross my legs into seiza, though dad sits rather casually, his legs crossed. I sneak a glance over at the yellow-haired man across from us as he pours our cups, but his seating posture is like mine, his feet tucked under him in a perfect seiza that leaves me almost nostalgic.

"I would like to cut to the chase and state that one of your clan members has meddled with my daughter's mind." Dad gestures to me, the cup of tea in his hand cradled carefully in the other. "I was informed that this had left her sick for a few days."

Yamanaka-san's eyes sharpen, turning to me in a manner that has me awkwardly shifting.

"I see. And which of my clan members has placed themselves over yours?"

Dad gestures to me and I have the fleeting thought in my head that questions: How does he know about Yamanaka Ren before my mind conjures the conversation I had with Kakashi during the worst of my scrambled mind. He must've left a message or something to Dad before he had left.

I speak before tension can build, almost forcing myself to not feel like a criminal as I name exactly who had been the ire of my thoughts recently. "Yamanaka Ren."

Dad gestures back to Yamanaka-san who's brows are knit together, a frown on his handsome face. "I see." Yamanaka-san turns to me, placing his cup down on the low table before meeting my own eyes. It's eerie to see a lack of pupil where there should be one, the plain circle of blue feeling outright wrong as I met his sharp gaze.

"May I?" The man asks, turning minutely to Dad. Dad hesitates, dark eyes turning to mine before he nods.

"Carefully, please, Yamanaka-dono."

Yamanaka-san hums, "No need to be so formal, Hatake-san." He then turns back to me, leaning across the tables till his elbows rested on it. His hands stretch out in front of him, snagging my free one in a deceptively firm grip that has my other hand squeezing my father's in alarm as the cup clatters to the table, spilling across the wood.

"Dad?" I ignore the hitch in my voice.

"Yamanaka-san needs to see if his charge has done any damage," Dad explains. There's a tightening around the corners of his eyes that I have come to recognize, though it doesn't abate the sudden beating of my heart at the sharp gaze of Yamanaka-san's empty blue eyes. "It won't hurt."

"It _may_ hurt." Yamanaka-san corrects, releasing my hand and folding his into a peculiar string of motion. "I will simply be taking a look into your mind for any damage."

"And if there is?" I ask, because I already know that he will find something not right. I lived with it being not right ever since I had woken up and everything had shifted two feet to the left and then some.

"And if there is then I will do my best to repair what damage there is." He turns to my dad, bowing his head. "That will take place over a series of weeks, of course, I will give reparations based on damage to the extent the Hatake Clan seems fit."

Dad nods silently.

"Look at me please, Hatake-chan." I look, meeting the dark blues of Yamanaka-san's. The back of my neck tingles, instinctual warnings ringing in my very bones to look away and take shelter from the man across from me. Dad's hand holding my own is enough to comfort me with the little information they seemed to share with me there.

"Breathe, Hatake-chan. This will only take a moment."

I nodded, exhaling slowly. "I'm ready."

There was a sharp sting, as if someone had flicked my forehead. My breath hitched, eyes rolling back into my head as steady hands caught me, cupping the back of my neck to keep my head from rolling back. Every muscle was screaming at me to _push_ —

" _Breathe."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter. I honestly had a bit of trouble with writing it and I'm not as satisfied with it as I want to be, but I'm tired enough to not care and say 'heck just post it.'
> 
> Lets go over some vocabulary this chapter:
> 
> Furiko (振子) Hanging sleeve child.
> 
> Bunraku (文楽) is the traditional puppet theater of Japan.
> 
> Daimyō (大名) are feudal lords. In traditional history they are similar to "nobles", however in the Elemental Nations they are like "Kings" or "Emperors" of their respective country.
> 
> Mon (紋), also monshō (紋章), mondokoro (紋所), and kamon (家紋), are Japanese emblems used to decorate and identify an individual, a family, or (more recently) an institution or business entity.
> 
> Tabi (足袋) are traditional Japanese socks worn with thonged footwear
> 
> Zori (草履) are flat and thonged Japanese sandals made of rice straw, cloth, lacquered wood, leather, rubber, or—most commonly and informally—synthetic material
> 
> Geta (下駄) are a form of traditional Japanese footwear resembling flip-flops. They are a kind of sandal with a flat wooden base elevated with up to three prongs, held on the foot with a fabric thong, which keeps the foot above the ground.
> 
> Yuzu (柚子 or ユズ) is a citrus fruit and plant that is a hybrid of mandarin orange and the ichang papeda  
> ......  
> I really suck with writing dialogue and tend to agonize over it. I feel like I make my characters a bit too stiff and while that may work fine for Kakashi (I'm looking at you, you socially-stunted gremlin) I feel as if it sucks out the life of all my other characters. I hope that I portrayed Sakumo well enough, but honestly I see his relationship more strained with his children in this story than if it was just him/Kakashi. Kakashi is the older sibling, and like all older siblings they watch out for the younger. I feel as if Kakashi/Heiya/Sakumo as a mix are a bit more strained as Kakashi has taken over as a mini-parent despite his age and sees that Heiya is a bit more mature than she should be (not like she was reborn or anything) but reasons that it's because of him, but also Sakumo's absence.
> 
> They all obviously love each other, but they're all social messes in some way. Heiya isn't sure how to act, Kakashi is Kakashi, and Sakumo is a single parent who sure as hell doesn't know what to do so lets his kids' take the reins because they seem mature enough. Newsflash, they're kids.


	3. III. Wherin Lie Thoughts of Dzongchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV; Sakumo I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Good intentions do not always suffice."
> 
> —Ufuoma Apoki

For all that he was a revered shinobi of Konoha, Sakumo was aware that he wasn't the best parent there was. He knew he wasn't even the best _father_ there was. But _hell_ , he tried when he could and he thought that at least no one could absolve him of _trying_.

(Over a million-and-one ways of knowing how to kill somebody but not knowing how to handle his own _kids_.)

Clan kids were always ahead in some way. Hatake children moreso. They had a history of churning out prodigies not like any other barring the Nara and Chisuga clans; maturity settled faster on Hatake children, it was just how it was. Sakumo can definitely remember being ahead of his peers both emotionally and mentally, having to work twice as hard to keep up physically because of some finicky part of the Hatake chakra that made them predisposed to larger amounts of Yin chakra. It was why they matured faster.

Even with all these reasons _(excuses, Sakumo, they're excuses)_ , he wouldn't say that there was no guilt when he looked at his children, Kakashi with his aloof and awkward manner, Heiya with her obedient and filial feelings of obligation that should not be on the too-slam shoulders of a girl who was four and a half. Failure was etched out in the sand between the unspoken like dividing him and his kids on two different planes he couldn't quite reach.

But then therein laid another problem:Hatake children weren't raised alone. _(Neither were Inuzuka.)_

Sakumo had the last pieces of a legacy that was over a thousand years old, deteriorating records too smudged and ruined to read, giving only one character of interest that had stayed true for millennia. Hatake.

And what could he do, the last of a once-numerous clan? His parents had perished in the First Great War, cousins and uncles and aunts all following up to the Second Great War. The Hatake had been dragged through the dirt, hunted and killed on the battlefield because of the way they had been feared for their terrifyingly effective techniques and white chakra. They had _lineages,_ contracts, relations, allies. The Hatake Clan once held political clout on Konoha's stage, they still did, but it wasn't what it used to be. They were like the Kurama or the Izumo, holding onto a bloodline that had yet to wink out.

It was heavy. It was a heavy burden and he wasn't afraid to admit that. Kahori had carried that burden with him when she was alive, laughing around the ends of her chopsticks while Kakashi clumsily toddled around the room with limbs not quite used to moving. His heart panged, an old wound opened up by his brooding. There would be nothing accomplished like this, sitting around like an old doll that never saw play.

Sighing, he toed the bottom of the shoji, fiddling with it and trying to not puncture a hold into the thin rice-paper before finally managing to get it to slide open. Heiya was light in his arms, but he had to maneuver so her head wouldn't bonk into the doorframe of the house. It was a struggle trying to cart her home, he was so obviously _shinobi_ , that after the first block from the Yamanaka District where non-shinobi-clan civilians crowded, he had immediately taken to the roofs after the suspicious stares from his dangling, unconscious daughter in his arms.

While well-meaning, he didn't need the hassle or trouble of having to explain that Heiya was his daughter and no he did not steal her for nefarious shinobi purposes. Despite living side-by-side with ninja, most non-shinobi-clan civilians were obnoxiously ignorant of their protector class. It would be hilarious if it wasn't so frustrating.

He had earned a few amused looks on the way home from fellow shinobi and he was sure that word would go around the Jōnin Station of the legendary White Fang carrying his tuckered-out kid home. It wouldn't be the first time. His personal life was one of curiosity from the younger promotions, his status of strength rivalling the _Sannin—_

"Dad?"

Heiya blinks blearily at him, squinting in the low light of her room. It's night-time now, the lights in the garden automatically turning on from some old fūinjutsu a Hatake had placed, peeking dimly through the rice-paper that separated her room from opening into the minature kaiyushiki teien.

"Hey, grey cat." He kneels, pulling back the covers on her futon to ease her into it. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Tired." She blinks again, looking just like the nickname he called her by. Sakumo could almost hear Kahori then, snorting softly into his ear at the nickname he bestowed upon their youngest. Small hands reach to pull up her covers and he helps by tucking them in around her.

"Yeah." Sakumo chuffs, trying to make sure the smile on his face looks real. Yamanaka Inomasa's voice echoes in his mind, the man's dark blue eyes flitting over his daughter almost confusedly before he turned to Sakumo. "You really tired yourself out."

Her eyes close, shifting onto her side to lean more towards him. His heart clenches. "I did?"

His fingers find their way into her hair, too much like his own. Sakumo had always hoped she would inherit Kahori's less eye-catching shade, silvery hair led to teasing and girls were always a bit more cruel than boys when it came to exclusion of those they deemed different.

"Mhm." He tucks his feet underneath him to settle. "Ran around like a 'lil demon. Tuckered yourself out before we could grab some takoyaki."

He pushed her hair back, savoring the way the strands felt between his fingers. She looked so at ease, curled up and pressed as close as she could to him without falling out of her futon. It was sweet, really, and he was just _relieved._

_There was nothing wrong._

_("Are you sure?" He had asked, hands curling protectively over his daughter's shoulders. Inomasa had stared at her, long and searching before furrowing his brows and turning to Sakumo with a measured look he couldn't quite place."She will be fine. Just a bit confused by simple things. I would keep a careful eye on her for any developments. Don't hesitate to bring her to me.")_

A weight had been lifted from his shoulders at the Yamanaka Head's report, tension bleeding from his form as he had thanked the blonde man and had carefully scooped up his daughter in his arms before taking the rooftops home. He had been home for less than a day before reading Kakashi's note and while Heiya seemed to be fine and fully functioning, he didn't miss the slight pauses or addled looks his daughter gave when she was faced with something like the _blender_.

Still, it would be a normal thing until her mind had fully integrated whatever pieces were upturned. Sakumo tried not to worry too much about it, Hatake chakra leaned more into the yin side of things. She would be fine.

He didn't begrudge his son on not sending a missive about his sister's condition, it was something that he would've worried about until he managed to steal an early break home that would've no-doubt had him on guard-duty for a month. Kakashi was a smart kid, he weighed pros and cons and followed the Shinobi Rules to a fault. He was a good kid; a good older brother too.

Retracting his hand, he pressed a kiss onto Heiya's brow, freezing when she shifted onto her other side before getting up. His knees cracked and he winced, a hand going around himself to push at the dull ache in his back. He was getting old, damnit.

Huffing, he turned for the door, throwing the room a cursory glance. It was the same as always, Heiya, just like Kakashi, was just as much of a stickler for organization as her older brother (most likely his influence).

It was just another point in how advanced she was, four years almost reaching onto five, showing a startling care in her own personal things that most children didn't grasp until they were in their pre-teens. Or was it normal? Sakumo couldn't be too sure. He was the youngest in the last surviving generation of Hatakes, he had no knowledge of how those with their blood progressed. Although Kakashi had been the same, but also Kakashi held the record in graduating the Academy in a blindingly short amount of time, so that couldn't be too good of a starting point then. He was lucky that his son ended up with Minato, for any other Jōnin would've surely found a reason to drop him, prodigy or not.

Being a babysitter wasn't on the job description.

Still, they all ended up doing it one way or another. Jōnin were required to take teams and pass on their own skills and knowledge, those who failed teams out of spite or not wanting to be saddled with kids kept getting them until a team passed and made it out on Konoha's theme as a certified ninja

Very few Jōnin managed to dodge becoming teachers for the younger generation at one point or another, but those who did were flagged down as 'incompatible' with children to a degree that keeping them away from kids was better off. There were just those that would end up traumatizing or killing multiple teams of Genin-hopefuls. Unfortunately, Sakumo was not one of those shinobi incompatible with children as he had two of his own for proof (Kakashi's blindingly fast graduating rate had pushed more pressure onto him for taking up a team) along with being the last few members of a bloodline that while did not have their own bloodline-limit, had the anomaly that was white chakra..

He hoped that if Heiya chose to become a shinobi, she would end up with a competent teacher. She had developed a habit of deflecting (if very badly) these past few years, when asked about the Academy. Honestly, he was surprised she didn't jump into her brother's shoes and aim to graduate as fast as possible, but by what he knew and saw of Heiya...she just lacked the drive to do so.

She followed through the katas and exercises both he and Kakashi showed her without complaint, taking like a duck to water the training regime Kakashi had poured down her throat whether she was cooperative or not. If she chose, she could become a great kunoichi, Sakumo didn't doubt it. She was a _Hatake_. That's all she needed. It was in their blood.

Taking one last look over the room before settling his gaze on the sleeping figure in the futon, he gave a small, tired smile. Here, he could at least feel a little less unburdened.

"Love you, grey cat."

* * *

"Push your knees inwards more, Heiya." He leaned down to move said knees, catching the soft hitch of his daughter's breath at the more strenuous position.

With nothing to do as most of the small errands he usually picked up when he got home were completed by Heiya, Sakumo had taken it upon himself to drag Heiya out from whatever cleaning she had been doing because Sakumo had been under the impression that his kids were _commissioning_ Genin teams to clean and manage upkeep of their compound, not _doing it themselves._

So here they were, spending a good amount of time together in what Sakumo liked to think as father-daughter bonding, because what better way was there to bond than teaching your kid how to defend themselves? It would also be good training for Heiya if she finally decided to make up her mind and join the Academy.

It was only a bonus that his daughter was such a dutiful student, following his lead with complete trust, even when her body clumsily folded in a way that had him cringing.

"Do you feel any sort of burn?"

Heiya nods, "My inner thighs."

"That's good! Now let's push downwards into crane and lift up." He demonstrated, movements slow and smooth compared to her jerky ones. They had been at it for the past four hours, only stopping to pause for short water breaks more for Heiya's sake than his own. She was a dutiful and diligent study and if it wasn't for Sakumo remembering that taking small breaks during training was a _thing_ (he steadfastly ignored the fact that he forgot to instill resting times with Kakashi's own training) or she would end up just like his eldest.

He watches as she folds herself upwards into a perfect Crane Stance, her back arching a bit to provide balance. She has the Hatake build that leans more into agility and flexibility, unlike Kakashi who had inherited the Inuzukas' build for speed and strength.

"Curve downwards and hands out for Tiger."

"Stance or seal?" Heiya asks, arms trembling.

"Stance." Sakumo nods, watching as she folds downwards with a wince as her back pops. It's an easy shift in kata, but with how they have been doing nothing but kata for the last four hours, he could imagine the burn in thighs and calves she must be feeling.

"Good." Dirt crunches under his sandals as he circles around her, reaching out to push his hand on her back for a straighter stance. Both of his kids had great posture, but with how Heiya had taken to doing most of the housework with both himself and Kakashi gone on missions, she had adopted a tired slouch.

(Sakumo ignored the small nagging voice in the back of his head that screamed _guilt_.)

"How about we get started on some lunch before your brother gets home," He turns his head skyward, squinting against the brightness of the sun. It was a cloudy day today with fat, fluffy clouds slowly making their way across the blue expanse of the sky. "I'm sure he would want some of the eggplants you grew him."

Heiya brightens, "Do you think they're ready to be harvested?"

He leans down, hands going under her armpits to lift her up into his arms with a laugh. "They look perfect, grey cat. Any longer and the locusts will start coming."

She wrinkles a nose, her little legs coming up to circle his torso. It is a simple action, but it has Sakumo inwardly melting. He forgets how _small_ his children are and with Heiya's legs barely even coming around his torso—it's adorable.

"Can you help me pick the eggplants?" Dark eyes blink up at him, her pale face holding that inquisitive charm only children seem to be able to do.

He ruffled her hair, enjoying the small squawk he received despite the dampness of sweat that now sticks to his hand. "Of course, pup."

"Dad!" She whines, hands coming up from around his shoulders to rearrange her hair as he sets her down. Heiya glares up at him through silvery strands, though there is a lack of heat and he can't help but chuckle as she stalks off around the training yard to her small garden.

Sakumo isn't sure where she gets her green thumb from, but she has kept her garden for the better part of a year despite what his limited pool of friends had said about the ability of a _three-year-old_ to care for plants. But Kakashi and Heiya had always been special, so after a year and a half of tending to the little garden he had made for her as a surprise birthday gift, she had yet a plant to die on her watch.

It was amazing really, with what little affinity he had with plants went along the lines of just barely keeping them alive. It was a wonder how his bonsai was still hanging on, but that bonsai had been a weird Hatake heirloom from some random Senju ancestor who married into the family. That bonsai had been a vibrant and lush green from when he had inherited it from Konomi-oba. He was sure that if she was still alive, she would hang him by her toes for letting the leaves brown.

He shivered.

As wrong as it may sound, he was _glad_ at times that he was the last of his line. His childhood of a compound _full_ of Hatakes was one also full of overpowered socially-awkward shinobi who let all pretense of social niceties and graces go right out the window when faced with their kin.

Sakumo had too many experiences of relatives who had no qualms about dragging you out of bed at three in the morning armed with the reasons of curiosity and ' _just because I wanted to._ ' It was in their blood to see how people reacted, just to place them somewhere in some weird mental hierarchy that _he_ never fully understood himself. It was his lament that, _that_ certain trait hadn't died out along with the last few members of the Hatake Clan in the Second Great War, but had rather miraculously revived itself in Kakashi when his son was testing his authority and boundaries.

 _Honestly_ , if the kid wasn't half-Inuzuka, that trait could've died out, but Sakumo just _had_ to go and fall in love with a kunoichi who found the battlefields as fun as kicking around a temari ball at her own genpuku.

(In his defense, it was _not_ his fault that the only person who had stirred any sort of interest was one tall, high-combat frontlining kunoichi who's grins were more of a feral smirk.)

That's what he got for marrying someone from his sister clan. The trait strengthened itself to survive, because he knew for sure that the Inuzuka had something similar to their own, but more rooted in testing the limits of their Alpha in some sort of primal gesture that _Sakumo_ didn't really understand.

"We can make eggplant miso!" Heiya cheers, her arms laden with eggplants as she turns the corner. Her voice tears Sakumo out from his thoughts and he laughs as he spots his daughter, eggplants and all practically falling out of her arms.

"I thought you didn't like eggplant miso?" He asks, eyes crinkling as he takes a few of the vegetables from her arms. The waxy sheen of the skin is almost smug in how healthy the produce is. Whatever Senju affinity towards plants that had been graced to his line from Senju Chigusa, a good six generations before his own.

The Senju were... _prolific_. A good chunk of Konohans were related to the Senju in some way and it wasn't unheard of to have a Senju in the family tree somewhere since the founding of the village. Besides, the Hatake had always been on friendly-enough terms with the Senju even before Konoha was founded.

Heiya shrugs, clumsily shucking out of her own sandals before putting on house slippers, Sakumo doing the same. "I don't mind it much. Kakashi-nī just _really_ likes eggplant and it's hard to eat something that tastes _only_ like eggplant."

He laughs at her wry tone, catching the sly smile on her face before following her to the kitchen. They set the eggplants down in the sink, Sakumo put on chopping and washing duty along with reaching anything above the countertops.

Maybe a four-and-a-half year old child cooking dinner would be a worry for most parents, but Sakumo has learned to just take things in stride when it comes to his kids. Kakashi graduating from the Academy in a year? Great, he has always been a bit more intelligent than other kids, right? Heiya somehow morphing into a little old woman with the chores and hobbies she has taken up since his mission-absence? Kids like new things, right? Maybe this was hers.

Letting his kids have the freedom they desired opened them up to becoming their own people. Independence is needed if they want to lead a life of shinobi because coddling wasn't a thing in the ranks, no matter how much the other villages poked at Konoha for doing so. The closest thing to coddling they got was a session in Torture and Interrogation or Konoha General Hospital, depending on your post-mission status, where you got saddled with a Yamanaka who managed to pry information out of you while teaching techniques on how to _cope_ , not heal, because healing took _time_ ; time that could be used better by being on the Active Duty Roster.

"Dad, can you pass the vinegar?" A tiny hand points to a cabinet above.

"Which one?" He asks, because there are four different labels of _vinegar_ and Sakumo thought that there was only the one because he remembered Kahori praising how it was such an all-around ingredient because you could use it in _cleaning_ as well.

"Just the regular one." Heiya turns away from him, hopping off her stool to scurry over to the pots and wrestle with unstacking them.

 _White Vinegar_ is stamped on the label on one of them, a small mascot advertising other products in tiny, comical script peering out from the corner of the label. ' _An Ōuchi Clan product!'_ is written in colorful characters on the backside, poking at their competitors in some small comic that has him distracted again as he reads over the back label.

 _Huh_. He wasn't aware that there were other suppliers of food that weren't Akimichi. They had dominated the food industry since the village founding, even going so far back to having exclusive contracts with the Honorable Ashikaga Clan that they kept up to the present day. Finding food-stuff _not_ stamped with Akimichi in some way whether it be a label citing that they imported it or made it, was hard.

"This one?" He tilts the bottle so she can read it from her angle at the stovetop.

"I think so.'

Sakumo raises a sardonic brow, a wry smile on his lips as he turns to face her. "What do you mean, _you think so?_ C'mon grey cat, you don't need to tease your poor ol' dad like that."

"Dad. I can't read."

He blinks. Did he hear that right?

"You can't read?" He parrots, feeling a bit lost. Was this another one of those tricks that she and Kakashi had been experimenting with? He was sure that whatever prankster phase they had been in ended months ago after one nasty incident involving glue and a panicked Kakashi when faced with his crying little sister trying to get said glue out of her hair.

Besides, he was sure that he would notice if one of his kids _couldn't read_. Kakashi was able by the time he was three, albeit not fluently, but he fully remembered his stubborn son seated with a child's picture book and refusing to ask for help from either of his parents.

_("It's adorable, Saku, stop pouting. Let him grow into himself and learn when to ask for help.")_

Kahori's snicker rings in his mind.

He crouches, holding the vinegar out. "Read it."

Heiya gives him a bland look, dry disappointment hanging onto her every word as she turns away from him to set the found pot on the stove. " _Dad_. I can't read."

Sakumo sputters, staring after his youngest as she takes the bottle from his hands and pops open the cap easily, smelling the contents and pulling a face at the enhanced-sniff she just took because _what the hell_ , didn't Kakashi or himself ever tell her to not do something like that because of their clan's enhanced senses?

Something related to panic and horror began to cross his mind because if he was _so sure_ that Heiya was at least somewhat literate, then what else did he manage to miss in basic information-passing when raising her?

"Heiya."

She hummed, sidling up next to him to grab a handful of sliced eggplants.

"Heiya."

"Yes, Dad?" She doesn't look over her shoulder as she measures the broth, a concentrated look on her small face.

"Are you aware of anything pertaining to Hatake abilities and customs?" His own voice sounds a bit distant as he asks, he never thought _he would have to ask a Hatake_ this question because, if she says ' _no'_ then he really will have failed and both Kahori and his Venerable Ancestors will probably flog him in the Pure Lands and—

"No." She shrugs, flicking the knob to increase the heat on the stove. "I was under the impression that I would receive tutors upon receiving my obi."

Sakumo can't quite hold in the choking sound that comes from his throat.

* * *

Sakumo hears him before he even rounds the corner, chakra buzzing in irritation as his eldest slinks into the room with a heavy slouch.

"Welcome home," He greets, watching in how his son peels his gloves off himself with a look of distaste in his dark eyes. "Hard mission?"

Kakashi flops onto his seat with a great sigh. "No. Just an annoying civilian."

"Escort?"

"Mm." Kakashi's eyes slide shut, head tilting back ever so slightly. As a Genin, he wouldn't have anything too hard on the mission roster, but there were always a few _instances_. Besides, everyone knew how annoying escort missions could be if saddled with the wrong civilian.

"Was it Kirigawa?" Sakumo asks, the clatter of his daughter in the kitchen picking up as she rushes through getting the meal out of the kitchen as fast as possible.

Without opening his eyes, Kakashi shakes his head. "No. Ishikawa."

_Ah._

"The daughter?"

"Mm."

"Dad! I need your help!" Heiya pokes her head out of the kitchen, eyes landing on her brother before smiling. She doesn't say anything however, beckoning Sakumo to join her.

Stretching out of his rather poor seiza, he tries to not wince at the pop in his knees as he straightens out. He was getting old.

Heiya is stubbornly pushing off a great clay pot off the stove and onto the counter as gently as she can without disturbing the soup into spilling off the edges when he walks in. Quickly, he steps around her and lightly bumps her out of the way with his hip so he can easily grab the pot.

She gapes at him.

"Want me to put it on the table?"

She blinks rapidly, dark eyes darting from his face and then to his hands with increasing incredulity and concern flickering over her features. "Are your hands okay?"

"Why wouldn't they be?" Sakumo raises a brow, watching her struggle to find a response before she gives a great sigh, nodding.

"Come back and grab the rest please. I will set the table." With that, she turns to rummage through the drawers.

Kakashi is still slouching back, but he quirks up into a passive proper sitting pose, eyes focused on the pot in Sakumo's hands.

"Is that eggplant miso?" There's something akin to hope in Kakashi's voice and Sakumo tries not to laugh at the sparkle beginning to shine in the boy's eyes.

He sets the pot down in the center of the table. "Of course it is. It's _your_ 'welcome back' dinner."

Heiya bustles out, her short arms struggling to hold the pot of rice and before Sakumo can step up to her, Kakashi is already there taking the pot from her hands and setting it on the table. It warms him that Kakashi is such a doting brother (albeit in his own way), for he had worried that adding another Hatake into their family would be a terrible choice.

He remembered the stories from his Genin days, with teammates who had siblings who would rather shank a kunai into their back than share the same room as them, or fight over the most trivial things. Kakashi, like with most things, had taken up the role of an older brother spectacularly.

"Thank you for the meal."

Heiya shoots her brother a smile, her eyes creasing into their own smiles. "Anything for you, nī-san."

(If there's anything, Sakumo loves his family the most.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocabulary
> 
> Konomi (小実): Small, fruit/kindness
> 
> Chigusa (千種): Thousand, seed: technically meaning a great variety of flowering plants
> 
> Kaiyū-shiki-teien (池泉回遊式庭園): Promenade or stroll gardens (landscape gardens in the go-round style) appeared in Japan during the Edo Period, (1600–1854), at the villas of nobles or warlords. These gardens were designed to complement the houses in the new sukiya-zukuri style of architecture, which were modeled after the tea house. These gardens were meant to be seen by following a path clockwise around the lake from one carefully composed scene to another.
> 
> Takoyaki(たこ焼き or 蛸焼) or "octopus balls" is a ball-shaped Japanese snack or appetizer made of a wheat flour-based batter and cooked in a special molded pan. It is typically filled with minced or diced octopus (tako), tempura scraps (tenkasu), pickled ginger (beni shoga), and green onion (negi)
> 
> Temari (手まり)balls are a folk art form and Japanese craft, originating in China and introduced to Japan around the 7th century A.D."Temari" means "hand ball" in Japanese Balls made from embroidery may be used in handball games and other such similar games (like, i.e., hacky sack).
> 
> Genpuku (元服), a Japanese coming-of-age ceremony modeled after an early Tang Dynasty Chinese custom, dates back to Japan's classical Nara Period (710–794 AD).[1] This ceremony marked the transition from child to adult status and the assumption of adult responsibilities. The age of participation varied throughout history and depended on factors such as sex, political climate, and social status. Most participants were aristocratic children between the ages of 10 and 20.
> 
> \--
> 
> Hey! I had much of the chapter done about a month ago, but I kind of got stuck here and there when writing at Sakumo's angle! Bet you didn't expect that, huh? Next chapter we will be going back to Heiya's POV and please note that she is an unreliable narrator! She's an old woman who woke up into her next life, but has a deep appreciation and care for family.
> 
> I wanted to finally explore more of the 'Hatake Clan' with Sakumo, and per some headcannon, I've firmly placed myself in the box that believes that most of the Hatake were killed in previous shinobi wars due to their terrifying efficiency of being shinobi so they were mass-targeted by other villages. Ill explore this more as we get deeper into Sandokai. Next chapter we will be seeing Heiya's experience with a proper Mind-Walk, along with some other drama and whatnot.
> 
> Thank you for all your kind reviews! I hope that you all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> M.B. Westover.


	4. IV. A Soul-Streamer's Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Youth offers the promise of happiness, but life offers the realities of grief."
> 
> ― Nicholas Sparks

There was a thrush cawing from the looming maple tree over the wall. It flapped, disgruntled, before taking off into the snow-white sky. My eyes followed it, watching as it slowly disappeared over the horizon.

"Furiko? Furiko?" Steady hands settled onto my shoulders, shaking me from my reverie and drawing my eyes to the tanned skin marked by pockmarks and small scars that came from attaching fish-hooks and unlucky netting. I stare, almost unbelieving at the crescent scar on the inside of a wrist, one that I had traced in affection, years and years and years ago.

I blinked as a face swam in view, dark brown eyes meeting my own in concern.

"Hayashi...?"

Hayashi— _Hayashi, my husband_ —gave me an odd look, brows furrowing as he pursed his lips in concern. The hands on my shoulders steadied me, grounding me from the swirl of thoughts that were not yet here in the present. "Furiko? Are you okay? Is it the babe?"

I stared at him, my mouth opening and closing a number of times that I was sure that I looked like some fish out of water. A cautious hand settled over my stomach, the off-weight of a pregnancy suddenly kicking into my senses.

Over Hayashi's shoulder is a stone-lion dog, the statue snarling at negative spirits and demons alike to ward them off of the sandō. My eyes trail upwards from the statue, the second torī gate standing as bold as it always did. I was at the mountain shrine. When had I traveled to the mountain shrine?

"I—No. I don't think so." I settle on, the words sounding foreign to my ears. The tone was wrong, but that wasn't right, was it? I always had a more husky tone of voice than most women, so why was my brain telling me that it should be octaves higher?

Hayashi's concerned look turns into mild alarm, his own hand coming to rest over mine on my swollen stomach in a show of support and to perhaps ground himself in his own self-assurances.

"Do you need to rest? Obā-san told me to bring some water for the walk up here just in case, do you need some?" His hands leave my person to fumble with the water-skin attached to his obi. It's a sweet gesture.

"It's okay. I just...I just thought I saw something." My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, why was that? The world felt strange and unfamiliar, and I the unfortunate eye of the storm.

And like that, Hayashi's entire countenance relaxes. "Was it a bird? You always get distracted by those cormorants Take-jiji let's loose, maybe one flew a bit too far."

My hand slips easily into Hayashi's own, his palms rough against my skin as he pulls me closer to wrap a steady arm around my shoulders. It's a sweet action that has my heart aching as my head tilts up to his own, a smile easily thrown my way from him.

He's as I remember from when we were young. A little rough-hewed and tanned with skin than speaks of a common life, but he is handsome to me, nevertheless. Our match was a lucky one, love growing in place of a childhood friendship.

Pebbles crunch underfoot, slowly giving way to gravel that then gives way to a dirt road that speaks of years and years of use. The shrine had been here since before my home village, the people settling to stay close to it, to stay closer to the Gods' divine protections and favors.

Our footsteps are careful, Hayashi's hand a warm weight as he tugs me a bit closer when the winter wind blows. Another couple pass by us, their faces unrecognizable to me, but my husband gives them a wave all the same. He always was too friendly for his own good.

"It's going to snow." I state, looking up at the clouds above. Hadn't I been here before? Not at this place, but in this time?

Hayashi tilts his head up with mine, a smile on his face. His teeth glint, peeking out from behind thin lips as his snaggle-tooth catches. "Looks like it will. C'mon, we should head home before it gets too cold, it won't be good for you or the babe."

Our walk is silent, stone lanterns dotting along the path for pilgrims as my knees begin to ache with the added weight of a pregnancy pulling me down even more than the decline of the mountain. The zori on my feet are a burden yet a blessing, every rock and lump were felt through the soles but still more comfortable than my geta sandals.

I would have to weave more sandals, come midwinter. It would be a good thing to get rid of the extra hemp before it became too brittle to weave. I settle a free hand on my stomach. I was obviously due soon, from the way it felt like I was to burst.

I breathed in, savoring the crisp air. There was the scent of dried fish carried in the air, probably Take-jiji's catch since he was the main fisherman in the village. His children hadn't wanted to carry on his legacy and so they went to the city to look for better apprenticeships while he taught the little ones in the village in hopes that one of them would catch on. Fushimi's boy would; he was a clever one, but preferred the quiet life out in the country. That was alright by me, too much ambition would be punished by the gods.

"Thinking?"

I hum, squeezing Hayashi's hand as the mountain-path veers sharply. Trees duck down, their branches eager to catch pilgrims and travelers with their wooden hands. "Yes."

Hayashi squeezes my hand back, another pushing the branches out of the way as he leads carefully. There was a common occurrence of at least one person slipping down the mountain path to the shrine. My husband was not one of many words, picked for me simply because we were childhood friends who found more solace in watching the others play while we sat in the shade and giggled over cicada shells.

"Mm. Obā-san promised soup for tonight." Hayashi comments, his voice warm as we stop over the curve of the mountain-path. Below I can see the dotting of the village, thatched roofs the majority with the few dark tiled houses making up the sweep of the valley.

* * *

I sigh, pulling my daughter away from the hearth as she looks up at me with big, betrayed eyes. Her tan face crinkles, color flushing into her skin as her mouth opens to start crying.

"Hoso," I pull her into my arms, chubby baby fat soft under my palms as she begins her cry. "Enough of that, you're being a bad girl."

She continues and I give another sigh, moving her off my lap so she can roll around while I finish the sleeves of the furisode. The village had been growing lately, more and more pilgrims choosing to stay and make a home here, prompting more business from my family. Grandmother had all-but given up on weaving hemp and began to work with me in designing kimono and yukata.

"Where's Minoru?" Obā-san asks, her form hunched over the gnarled branch Hayashi had carved into a cane for her. She was still of the opinion that I should've married Genko's boy, and not even the birth of Hoso would de-frost her from her dislike of my husband. She had accepted the cane only because the rest of the family had wheedled her into accepting it, if only out of a hope that she would soften to the newly added family member. She didn't. I still caught her eyeing it distrustfully at times.

"Out in the fields. He's playing with his friends." I reply, biting the thread off and tying off the knot. I would have to ask Yuri-san if she had any more wool so I could spin more thread to begin the embroidery on the hem.

Grandmother huffs, shuffling over to seat herself by the hearth. The fire was out, but the coals were still red and warm, a comforting heat if anything. "What's she crying for?"

"She wanted to grab the coals." I reply easily, folding the sleeve so they would not wrinkle. A lord and lady had recently been given the lands around our growing village, requesting the best local tailors or seamstress to attend to her wardrobe. The only other competitor I had was Bin, but her stitches were sloppy after a while and she tended to put off work to spin thread than actually make anything.

Having a lord and lady as our patrons would greatly help the increasing number of mouths to feed in the family, not to mention give Hayashi a reason to go to the city and buy me some fancier silks.

"I would've spanked her." Grandmother harrumphs, turning sharp eyes to the suddenly-quiet Hoso. She was just reaching her second year, another sibling already on the way if my hunch about my nausea was right.

"Please do not spank my child, obā-chan."

Grandmother says nothing to that, eyeing my daughter with dark eyes before her features soften, picking up her great-granddaughter in delight. Despite her crabby nature, everyone knew in the family that grandmother had long out-grown her temper, the tiredness of age mellowing her out from the spry old woman in our youth who would whack us over the head at the smallest acts of insubordination.

Hoso would be her seventh grandchild, an auspicious number, and I could already tell that as my daughter grew into herself more, she became grandmother's favorite. Of course, grandmother wouldn't admit she had favorites, rallying her breath to rant and rave over how Hoso was born as a lucky number.

"She's an ugly girl."

I sigh. "She's still growing, obā-chan."

"She's dark. Much too like that father of her's." Her knobby finger traces the bridge of Hoso's nose, the gesture startling gentle compared to her words. I grit my teeth, biting my tongue so as to not snap at my elder disrespectfully.

"Hayashi is a kind husband." I all-but deflect. It was better to act demure and ignore any negative comments from her, else I would be in hot water from the rest of the family. Respecting your elders was a cornerstone in society, those who were anything but respectful were easily shunned and gossiped about.

I liked it, taking care of those who took care of you was a novel idea, but it was times like this that I remembered how callous the older generations were.

She snorts, wrinkled lips smacking together as she geared herself up to complain about my husband. "I don't understand what your parents were thinking, matching you up with that _boy…_ "

* * *

"Thank you." I smiled, cheeks practically hurting from how wide it was, but I didn't care. Coins clinked in the coin purse, the metal clicks practically music to my ears as Tsumahime-sama withdraws her small hand, a genial smile on her painted face. After getting over the shock of having the lady of the land on my humble doorstep, it was almost a dream in the way she _personally_ handed over my payment.

She lifted her hand, a brightly-patterned sleeve I had worked on months ago painting a beautiful contrast to her face. "Good servitude must be paid back in full; unrewarded good work is simply unvirtuous."

I nod, tucking the coin purse into my obi as her attendants swarm to lead her into her litter. It wasn't a small thing, having the lady of the land visit in person. I watch as the pins in her hair sparkle and bob, some part of me wishing that one day I would be able to have such finery. It wasn't far-fetched, given the patronage from the lord and lady, but there were simply too many in my household to provide for, not to mention the renovations that had been done to my family home.

"Mom?" Hoso's face peeked out from around the corner, dark eyes curious as I shut the door. The village had expanded into a proper town, money brought in by the nobles doing wonders to the infrastructure as more and more houses added tiles onto their roof. Streets were actually paved with stone as well!

I turn to my eldest with a great smile, rushing forward to sweep her in my arms despite the ache in my back. Winters were getting harder on my aging bones, but also the sting of multiple pregnancies were starting to bite, another one already on the way. Hopefully my last.

"We will be having beef tonight!" I cry, her own laugh mixing into my own as I spin us across the room. I pull away, her eyes twinkling as she fights to hide the smile on her own.

She had grown up wonderfully, a real beauty despite the light tan to her skin that clung on despite the amount of time she spent indoors. Hayashi and I had been making some noise over some of the marriage proposals our neighbors had offered for their sons. Her dowry would be no small thing considering our patron's generosity, as well as being the oldest daughter.

"Did Tsumahime-sama pay well?" Hoso asks, her hands already grabbing the coin purse before I can reply. Her dark hair bows over her face as she looks at the coins in the bag.

"This one feels heavy," She comments, counting under her breath as she fingers through the purse. The clinks of the coins are soothing to my ears, a small price of luxury tonight would do wonders for everyone.

"Make sure to send your brother down to Wataru-san," I instruct, taking the coin purse from her hands and digging out a decent amount. "Ask for three slabs."

She accepts the coins, face scrunching as she hands back the gold ones and leaves the copper and silver ones. No one liked dealing with the butchers more than they needed, but they would be having meat tonight and not even my children's protests would deter my decision.

"Which brother?"

I lean over to press a kiss on her cheek, ruffling her dark hair in amusement before turning away. The hemp mats crunch under my feet., a comforting sound that does much to remind me of my humble origins. How far our family has grown...I wonder how proud grandmother would be if she still lived.

" _Considering that Etsuta-chan is still a babe…"_

* * *

I blink, brows creasing as I stare up at the ceiling above. There's a weight next to me, pressing into me rather than on me, and insufferably hot despite the way the air seems to freeze on my face.

It's morning, the crisp scent of early dew registering as I try and muster the energy to properly _think_ , my head jumbled as I press a clammy hand against my thigh as if to remind myself that I am physical.

Next to me, the weight shifts, a huff of breath drawing my attention to the shock of silver hair on my side. I stare, eyes burning as I go too long without blinking despite the frantic rush of my mind as it tries to settle in the semblance of peace I once had it organized into. It's eery, to feel so detached yet so connected to your own feelings.

Two drowning things can't save each other. All they can do is drag each other down.

A choked sound worked it's way from my throat, hands desperately fumbling under the weight of the futon to break free and clasp over my mouth as if it would hold back my own emotions.

"Heiya?" One dark eye peers at me in the early light, curiosity shifting to concern as Kakashi pushes himself up into a half-sitting position, propped up on his elbow. "Did anything happen?"

I shake my head, eyes squeezing shut as bile begins to build in the back of my throat. How do you even begin to explain? How do you explain that you woke up in an unfamiliar body and tried your best to continue and adapt because death was expected and it was better to accept the Gods' gift when given better fortune?

_How do you explain the keen loss of a child despite being a child?_

It's almost comical in the way hysteria begins to build. An ugly feeling, one that would be immediately banished if it wasn't for the way Kakashi's hands smooth over my futon-covered selt to pull me close despite the awkwardness of the blanket separating us. He doesn't ask, wordlessly shifting his hands so his fingers can comb through my hair.

I had lost my life. I had lost Furiko.

These past few weeks had been me not quite yet understanding; accepting my death was easy because I was old. I had watched my grandchildren grow and one of my own children pass before me, death was no stranger in the way I had welcomed acceptance into my mind.

But I was different now. I was Hatake Heiya, a lonely little girl who had her garden for enjoyment and her brother as her only friend. And wasn't that scary? Looking into the mirror and seeing yourself despite some part of your mind feeling indescribably uncomfortable―

"Was it a bad dream?" Kakashi's voice is quiet, lips lingering by my ear as I press my face into the crook of his shoulder. This is my _brother_ , my only brother who tried so hard to do his best when it came to me. The mantra plays in my head until I'm dizzy, his question becoming fuzzy to the point that I wonder if it was even asked in the first place.

The blanket is soft against my skin as I unclasp my hands from my mouth, pulling up the cloth to cover the both of our heads, warmth immediately cocooning us. "I felt funny again."

He hums, tense fingers pausing their smooth caress through my hair for a moment to betray his concern before they continue their path. It's a calming motion, one he had done many times before on me when memories were harder to grasp onto in this life.

"Did you dream of being funny?" He asks, the murmur of his voice cool despite the uncomfortable heat that began to grow in the space between us under the blanket.

I shift my head back, pulling away from the embrace to pop my head out of the heat, the coolness of the room refreshing. Shouji leading out to the garden on the opposite side of the room had made the early rays of the sun into a pale pink that settled across the room like a comforting haze. My fingers twitched, knowing that if it were in a life before I would be up before dawn had even crested the horizon, already stitching away at the seams of kimonos.

Could there be pride in grief? Could I be proud that I was the best at my trade and know that if I was to take it up again I would swiftly climb higher than no other? Would it be fair to the girls who dreamed like I did once, only to push them aside with generations of knowledge tucked away in muscle memory I was sure would kick in once I settled?

So I settle with simple words, not quite trusting myself despite the way my body stills and calms. "Yeah. I dreamt of being funny."

Silvery hair tickles my cheek and I'm not sure whether it is mine or his, eyes falling closed at the feeling as Kakashi noses his face into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. "Like with Yamanaka Ren?"

"I think." And that's the truth of it, memories, dreams; whatever it was fading away from my mind and leaving only the tattered remains of knowing something different and being left with the emotions to deal with it.

"Dad left this morning," My brother says, his voice tickling my skin. "His team got called out early."

It was almost a relief in the childish, more Heiya-centered feeling of disappointment that settled itself in my chest. Dad was always gone, despite what he said about the days of vacation he was given.

"Do you have to go soon?"

"No. Sensei gave us a few days off for training."

It falls silent between us then, our breaths matching each other as we pull each other back closer together, something settling in my mind at the blatant display of skinship.

I would grieve. I would continue to grieve because it was shocking to suddenly understand what you lost after thinking that everything was fine. But that was okay, because I would grow and I would learn to love this life even more than I did now and the people in it because I was no longer Furiko, the kimono seamstress who worked until her hands shook and she slowly blinded. No, I was Hatake Heiya with a lineage that went back to accomplished men and women alongside an older brother who genuinely cared and a father who believed love was all he needed to raise us right.

Perhaps the Gods had given me my memory back for the simple reason that I would have to care for these two. Dad was terribly awkward around his own children and I didn't miss the way Kakashi's face would fall blank as if to grow into a man before his voice had lowered.

"Nī-san?"

"Hm?" His legs curl up, resting under my knees.

"Can we have Asahara-san's for dinner?" The thought of cooking now is a tiring one, despite the squash Dad had helped harvest yesterday before he left. He had only stayed three days before being called out again.

Kakashi grumbles, knowing that he would have to be the one to pick up food but nods anyway. "Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocabulary
> 
> Hayashi (速) Fast
> 
> Hoso (ほそ) Little, dainty
> 
> Minoru (実) To bear fruit
> 
> Etsuta (悦汰) Delight/joy/pleasure, too many
> 
> Take (岳) mountain
> 
> Genko (厳子) strict/stern child
> 
> Wataru (亙) cross over
> 
> Tsumahime (妻) literally meaning: wife-princess
> 
> Asahara (朝原) morning field
> 
> Sandō (参道) Is the road approaching either a Shinto Shrine or Buddhist Temple
> 
> Torī(鳥居 or とりい) is the traditional Japanese gate most commonly found at the entrance of or within a Shinto Shrine, where it symbolically marks the transition from the mundane to the sacred
> 
> I'm so sorry on how long this update took. I literally promised (or alluded to) more happening this chapter in the last, but I simply couldn't write. I struggled a lot with this chapter and it shows in the length, but! A glimpse into Heiya's past life! I promise next chapter will have more to say and that this one is more of a filler than anything. Inspiration for me has been bouncing around and college has been a mess for me both getting my classes and doing them. There might be a lull in updates coming up in December because holiday season! Thank you all for your kind reviews and favorites/follows, I love and appreciate every single one of them!
> 
> To the next,
> 
> M.B. Westover

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FF.net


End file.
